The Ballerina and the Consulting Detective
by LiveLifeLove22
Summary: Mel McAllister is moving to London to join the Royal Ballet. Strapped for cash, she finds 221B Baker Street. How will the boys react to their new neighbor? Sherlock/OC Romance.
1. Chapter 1: Off to England

**Well hello everyone! **

**This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I do apologize if it sounds peculiar at times. Have patience with me please xD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or BBC. Would I be here if I did? Probably not... lol. I only own my OC**

* * *

The examination room was filled to the brim with tension. Yale University was holding its last set of final exams for the 2013 school year. They were being held in the auditorium. The large space had been cleared to make room for hundreds of desks. Every inch of the area was covered. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of pencils.

Brows were sweating. Heads throbbed. Hands cramped.

One student was unconcerned. She sat in the final row, in the back corner. She spun her HB pencil between her dextrous fingers. The yellow polished wood slid easily through her slim fingers, twirling through the air. There was still an hour left of her Biology final; but she had already finished. The woman knew that she would receive one hundred percent on the final. The twenty-three year old wasn't arrogant or needlessly overconfident. She was a genius. With an IQ of 189 and both a photographic and eidetic memory, the woman took only sixty minutes to complete the four hour exam.

Because students were only allowed to leave after three- to minimize the issue of individuals guessing and cheating throughout the test- the woman was exceptionally bored.

**8:58:59 AM**

**8:59:00 AM**

She exhaled, drawing the perturbed gaze of students surrounding her.

_Only one more minute_.

She'd already drawn three detailed sketches of the solar system, doodled and labelled all of the organs in the human body, recited all of Shakespeare's plays, and analyzed every single person in the room dozens of times.

**8:59:58 AM**

**8:59:59 AM**

**9:00:00 AM**

The woman slipped from her chair gracefully and stood. She picked up her finished exam. She walked calmly down the rows of students. Most glared at her. The young woman smirked as she saw that many of the students were only halfway through the final.

She stood before the Examiner's desk. The man seated there looked up at the young woman with surprise.

"Can I help you?" he asked, regarding her gradually.

"I've finished, Sir," she stated, extended her hand, passing him the booklet. She smiled softly as he raised his brows in surprise.

He took the pages in his weathered grip. "Very good. Did you look everything over?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied with a nod.

"Alright then, I hope you have a nice summer, Miss McAllister."

"Thank you, Sir. Please, just call me Mel."

The man chuckled. "Ah yes. I apologize. What are you doing now that your degree's finished?" he asked kindly.

Mel smiled, her petal pink lips curling at the edges. "I'm moving to London. To dance with the Royal Ballet."

He whistled in awe. "That's incredible. I still don't understand how a professional dancer like yourself found time to complete a degree. It's mindboggling how you find the time!" The professor watched as the beautiful woman laughed breathily.

"It's quite easy to find the time sir, if you don't sleep," she hummed, winking conspiratorially. The words would've alarmed anybody who overheard, but the charming way in which she said them caused the old man to chuckle.

He scratched the stubble of his snowy white beard as his laughter quieted. "I suppose that'd make sense, my dear."

_Wedding ring, 14k gold. At least thirty years old, due to staining on the band and the weakness of the setting around the diamonds. Wrinkles around the eyes and mouth as well as the forehead suggests between the ages of sixty and sixty three. Yellow staining on the teeth an fingers are from smoking. Most likely smoking takes the stress off the fights him and his wife get into. They obviously get into fights, because the knuckle above the wedding ring is swollen, as if the ring has been taken on and off many times-__  
_  
Mel shook herself, cutting off the automatic deductions. "It was wonderful speaking with you, but I really must go. Have a fantastic summer, Sir."

He looked surprised at her sudden need to depart but didn't question it. He placed her completed exam on the corner of his large desk. When the professor looked up, he saw that the woman had disappeared. "And you, Miss McAllister," he muttered quietly, scratching his bearded chin.

_Such a strange young lady..._ He thought to himself. Shrugging internally, the professor looked back to the sea of students currently flooding the auditorium.

* * *

Three hours. It had only taken three hours for Mel to pack up her apartment and put everything in the storage unit. All her things were to be shipped ahead of her so they would be in her new apartment when she arrived.

The twenty-three year old dressed in a long indigo button-down dress shirt and a pair of black leggings. The color of the shirt picked up the rich emerald greens in her eyes and was a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Mel looked in the mirror one last time.

The woman in the reflection was symmetrically perfect and undeniably beautiful. Large emerald eyes were framed by the thickest set of lashes. They were naturally curled and almost long enough to brush her brows. The nose was narrow and sloped. It couldn't quite be classified as a button nose, but it was slender and perfect. Her brows were a deep auburn, only a few shades lighter than her lashes, and arched. They weren't drawn on, but natural and groomed. The reflection's hair was naturally wavy, and pulled back into a chignon. The style revealed a slender, graceful neck of a dancer. The hue was a stunning red. Mel never had the heart to dye it. Considering the compounds and various chemicals needed to tone down the brilliant color, there was no point in it at all. Pieces of the chignon had fallen out, framing her delicate features. Lips were full and the palest pink. Finally, a light dusting of freckles brushed the bridge of her nose and defined cheekbones.

Mel sighed as she reached to turn the light off in the hall of her apartment. She threw her brown leather satchel across her body. Lastly, she slipped on a pair of black flats and departed. She locked the door.

The redhead padded down the staircase to the first floor. She knocked on her landlady's door.

"Ma'am, it's Mel. My plane leaves in an hour, so I'm going to slip the key under the door."

She dropped the key and kicked it under the wooden door with the toe of her shoe.

Knowing she was late, she ran out to the curb. Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she waved for a taxi passing by. It screeched to a stop at the sight of her.

The young woman slid into the cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked. His beady eyes scoped the body of the woman's slight features. They trailed down, gazing unrepentantly at the small amount of cleavage her blouse revealed.

Mel grimaced faintly. "The airport. I'll pay you double if you cut down the travel time by half."

The cabbie's eyes widened. He swiveled in his seat and hit the gas pedal.

They sped off.

* * *

The flight was long.

For a mind like Mel's, the worst thing that could possibly happen would be to lock it up so it would have to constantly observe the same people over and over.

_The three stewardesses were going on fifty-six hours without sleep. Their steps wavered in their small heels not because of turbulence or sleep deprivation. Their eyes were bloodshot. A small trace of white powder was on each of the woman's uniforms. They giggled obnoxiously. They were under the influence of cocaine. Concealer was caked heavily under their eyes to hide the dark circles. Their hair was limp and oily. They'd tried to comb baby powder into it, but it only went so far. Their smiles were strained. Hands shook as they poured refreshments.__  
_  
The man sitting next to Mel was much more interesting to solve.

_He was normal looking. Salt and pepper hair was cropped short to his head. Hands were rough, meaning he worked his hands or did manual labor. But there was stress in his back, by the way he slouched. This sort of stress only came from a desk job, such as an accountant. The dress shirt he wore under his blazer was designer and expensive. His clothes were also wrinkled heavily. This suggested he'd taken another flight before this, most likely a connecting flight. A chain necklace peaked out of the neckline of his shirt. He was sleeping, which meant he was either physically exhausted, or he was used to travelling. No wedding band was worn, but there was a line of paler skin on his finger. Conclusion: a senior accountant who'd been divorced because of the amount of time he was away from home and working. He was always busy, which suited his lifestyle. Before he was an accountant, he was in the military; considering the hair and chain that obviously held dog tags.__  
_  
Mel was elated when the plane finally landed on the tarmac.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've landed in Heathrow airport. The weather conditions are sixty five degrees with a chance of showers. The crew hopes you enjoy your stay in London and that you have a great day."

Mel gently shook the arm of the man next to her. He woke with a start. Her observant eyes fell to his neck as his dog tags fell out from under his shirt.

"We've landed," she stated.

The man blinked rapidly, attempting to restore his vision. "Thank you. I'm so used to flying for work, I fall asleep like a baby," he laughed.

Mel couldn't help herself. "What do you do?"

He smiled. "I'm a senior member at a accounting firm."

She nodded, unsurprised that she was correct once more.

The plane eventually stopped. The most impatient of the passengers snatched up their bags and flew out the door with not small amount of haste. The young woman waited her turn, abiding by the rules of social etiquette. She silently observed the environment outside the window.

The dark clouds above had opened, and rain was already pattering on the tarmac. Several planes meandered about the pavement as their pilots completed safety checks on the equipment. Men ran about in fluorescent vests, helping to load baggage into large vehicles. Far down the runway, men waved orange batons, aiding planes land.

Mel turned away from the familiar scene when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Nails bit into the material of her shirt, reminding the dancer of a bird's talons. She looked up. It was one of the stewardesses. The tired woman plastered a tight smile on her lips. It didn't reach her eyes. It made it look like the woman was sneering.

"You're the last one, ma'am," the stewardess hissed through her gritted teeth.

Mel shifted out of the woman's reach. The painted claws dropped away from the material of her blouse. "My apologies," she uttered swiftly as she stood to retrieve her jacket and bag from the overhead compartment. The large satchel was years old and made of soft brown leather. She fit it across her body.

"It's no problem," the sneering lady lied unconvincingly.

"No, it is. You're exhausted after your all-nighter. You should get some sleep." Mel smiled, ignoring the looks that followed her when she walked through the aisle to the main door. Mel turned back and looked at the women. "I would suggest you ladies cut back on the cocaine. The man in row 4b was a cop and he'll be waiting for you at the gate." The stewardesses gasped in outrage. Mel gave them a small wave before disappearing through the exit and into the tunnel.

_You warned them. I suppose that was as kind as you could've been, _the woman's subconscious sighed.

When she walked through the gate, she noticed the cop from the plane was waiting, badge already in hand. Mel smiled softly at him, but he paid her no notice. Heathrow was incredibly busy. People bustled to and fro, drawing her concentration and her photographic memory. It was impossible to switch off. Every single feature of each person that passed was catalogued and permanently seared into her brain.

Mel sighed, pushing through the exit. She breathed through her nose, welcoming the cool air. The scent of the rain filled her senses, dispelling her overwhelmed thoughts. The young woman ran for an empty taxi, long legs reaching the vehicle in seconds. She managed to jump in without getting wet at all.

"Where to, miss?"

"Baker Street, please."

* * *

**There you go! I promise, it gets a lot better down the road ;)**


	2. Chapter 2: Mozart's Violin Sonata in G

**Hey guys!**

**I don't know how long I'm gonna write this for... but if anyone likes it, let me know by review/fav/following! I'm letting you know right now that I'm taking some liberties with 221B. John and Sherlock are going to live together in the main flat, and Mel is going to live where John's place usually is upstairs. Just letting you know! **

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel ;D**

* * *

The cab drove slowly through the street. The occasional car passed them, but the neighborhood was mostly empty.

"It's 221B," Mel murmured quietly as she watched the brick buildings pass through the window. A young couple held hands as they walked down the sidewalk. A shopkeeper swept dirt into the curb with an old broom. The woman noted the classic lines of the older architecture.

The black taxi pulled up to the curb and rolled to a stop. The young woman paid the cabbie and thanked him as he opened the door for her. He opened a large umbrella to shield her from the heavy rainfall.

"Welcome to London," the man joked, motioning to the storming clouds above. "Get used to the weather."

Mel chuckled and leaped up the stairs. "Thank you," she called back to the cabbie. He tilted the umbrella in acknowledgement before hopping back in his vehicle and driving off.

The young woman used the gold knocker to rap loudly on the painted black surface of the door. The gold plate stating the flat number was wet with rain. It stared back at her miserably. **221B**. Several moments later, the door swung open. An older lady in a plum colored dress looked out at her worriedly. "Come in, dear! You're going to catch a cold!"

The redhead smiled and let the woman usher her in. "Mel McAllister," she introduced, holding out a hand.

"Mrs. Hudson," the woman replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it. "Let me show you to your flat."

"Thank you, ma'am," Mel uttered politely, following after the landlady. She stripped off her leather jacket, which was sadly drenched from the rain, and hung it over her arm.

"Oh it's no trouble, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, leading the way up the narrow staircase. Mel noted how dark it was. Only a couple of incandescent light bulbs illuminated the area. The wooden stairs creaked alarmingly underfoot. They were either infested with termites of just worn with use and age. The scent of old furniture and damp sawdust filled the woman's nostrils. They eventually reached the first floor.

The landlady stopped abruptly. Mel would've barreled through her if it wasn't for the dancer's quick reflexes. "I have some people who want to meet you."

Mel barely concealed her exhausted sigh. "Neighbors?" She ventured.

Mrs. Hudson regarded her strangely for a moment before nodding. She knocked on the door in front of them. She only waited a few beats before she pulled a rather large ring of keys from the pocket of her dress. Mel couldn't help but raise a brow as the woman opened the door.

"I don't think-" The redhead protested, feeling increasingly awkward about the situation. The door swung open, hinges creaking. The sound echoed through the entire building.

"Boys? Are you home?" Mrs. Hudson called, completely disregarding the rules of social etiquette by traipsing through the apartment door uninvited.

Mel walked just inside the doorframe and analyzed the small flat.

It was untidy to say the least. Books and loose papers covered every surface. Boxes of what looked like police files sat in one of the corners by a small couch. Ghastly printed wallpaper on the wall to the right had a large spray painted yellow happy face on it. Mel's brows knitted together. The hardwood floor was dusty, signifying that neither of the tenants swept it.

"Come in dear!" Mrs Hudson called, finally realizing the girl was no longer following her.

"I would rather wait here, ma'am." Mel admitted, crossing her arms across her chest. The air was chilled. It raised the hair on her arms. Her thin blouse did little to stave off the cold.

The older woman shrugged and pursed her lips. "Suit yourself."

The door to the right opened. A man with short dirty blonde hair stepped out. Immediately, Mel's eyes scoured and collected all information possible about the man.

He wore wearing a cream knitted sweater and brown slacks_. _He walked with a limp, most likely meaning an injury. The strange thing was, he didn't walk with a cane._ The limp is likely psychosomatic. By the way he carries himself, the injury could be in a arm or shoulder. His posture is rigid, most likely military. Recently returned, by the look of his tan and the pale skin where his watch should be. Possibly in the past month or two. _The man's age, stance and expression did not lead to someone who fought in the frontline-_  
_  
The man looked at Mrs Hudson with a smile. "I thought I heard someone come in." His eyes turned to Mel and began searching her features, almost as if he was taking her in as well. "John Watson. " He stepped forward, reaching out a hand. "You must be the lovely lady who will be moving into the flat upstairs."

The young woman took the hand in hers and shook it firmly. "Mel." She smiled sweetly.

_-Hands are soft and steady. Not the hands of a man doing hard labor or in the frontline. Almost like the hands of a doctor or surgeon. Conclusion: an army doctor discharged from the military- either Iraq or Afghanistan- because of a bullet wound to the shoulder.__  
_  
Suddenly, another voice came from around the corner. "What else do you see, John?" It was deep and intelligent. The man's baritone almost seemed bored as it floated through the air.

"I... I don't know. She's American?" John scrambled for information, looking the young woman over for more clues.

Mel smirked. She was amused.

"A very astute observation," the other voice muttered drily. "Come in. Do leave your shoes on. I'm experimenting with the rats this evening."

Her brow creased. Going against the man's advice, she slipped off her shoes. John raised a brow, as if it was strange to defy something the other man said. Mel padded barefoot through the main room. She noticed a small sitting area. A beautiful violin and bow were propped against the leather one. She turned, walking into what seemed to be a kitchen.

At the table sat a dark haired man. He wore a black suit tailored suit. The white dress shirt underneath had several buttons undone, revealing smooth, pale skin. The buttons seemed to strain to hold the fabric at bay across the center of his chest. The man was bent over a microscope, focusing the lens.

He was obviously handsome, symmetrically speaking. His dark hair was curly and shone in the dim light. _He takes care to groom himself. He cares about his appearance. _The expensive suit he wore led to the same conclusion_. They're just inside their apartment, though. He doesn't dress this way for others, but for himself. This is either because he enjoys the feeling of the material, or that he enjoys dressing superior to his peers. _Mel took in the various organs and eyeballs strewn haphazardly across the tabletop- all in various stages of decomposition_. He enjoys experimentation, but he isn't a doctor. Even though his fingers are unwavering and slender, he's too arrogant to be in any sort of medical profession. __  
_  
"This is Mel," Mrs. Hudson introduced swiftly, breaking through the silence. She moved into the small kitchen and approached the sink. A monstrous tower of dirty dishes had accumulated. The landlady turned on the faucet and added some dish soap. She rolled up the sleeves of her dress to her elbows and commence washing the dishes.

Mel glanced back at the dark haired man when he let out a loud, aggravated groan.

"Bored." He breathed harshly as he wrote something down on a pad of paper at his elbow. He didn't bother to turn away from his work.

"This is Sherlock," John sighed, rolling his eyes. The statement seemed almost second nature to him. _It's obvious the two are new friends, not lovers. The army doctor is accustomed to apologizing regularly for the rude tendencies of the man._

Mel realized she hadn't replied. She'd been too busy analyzing the men. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement, knowing it was too late to utter any form of response without making her sound idiotic. The handsome man looked up slowly when he realized there was a lack of any utterance. The redhead noticed that his eyes were the lightest blue she'd ever seen, almost bordering on grey. They were cold and calculating as they took her in.

"I'm _bored_," Sherlock whined to John, breaking the connection of their gazes. He gazed back at the specimen under the microscope.

The woman didn't warrant the unpleasant statement with a response. _It doesn't matter how clever he may think he is. If a man is rude, he doesn't deserve your time-_

"Is she mute?" The dark haired man asked as the doctor moved to grab a pitcher of water from the fridge. Mel raised a brow when she caught sight of a severed human head sitting on the top shelf in a dinner plate.

The blonde man exhaled tiredly. "Yes Sherlock, she can talk."

"Damn. That would've made my day interesting."

Mel bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing in the man's face. _Too arrogant and self-sufficient for law enforcement. A private investigator who consults with the police... A consulting detective._

John handed her a napkin before pouring two glasses of water and passed her one. She thanked him loud enough for the callous man to pulled completely away from his microscope. His startling stare turned to her again. Emerald clashed with bright blue. It was a fearsome battle between them. This wasn't a battle of words; it was something much deeper.

The army doctor rolled his eyes and took a swig of water. "Really? We're breaking out the staring contest already?"

The woman bit her lip to keep from bursting out in peals of laughter. Sherlock's eyes trailed down, registering the movement. Something in his cool stare cause Mel's stomach to tighten.

Something primal.

The woman released her bottom lip. The man shock himself almost imperceptibly. He stood and straightened his black blazer. His large hands smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the expensive fabric. Finally, he walked around the table towards her, reminding her of a cat stalking its prey. Mel stood her ground.

"Mel stands for Melanie, I presume. You're of Irish descent: you still have a bit of an accent from when you were younger. Your parents are retired and live in a tropical climate. You visit them often, due to the freckles on your face and the sun streaks in your hair." He paused momentarily, as if gauging her reaction. "You recently graduated. There's a relief that can only be smelt on a graduated college student. I'd venture Harvard Law. You have the face and are slim enough to be a model. Your legs are toned from walking down catwalks and you're thin because you starve yourself to fit in with the industry. How am I doing so far?"

Mel sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

John noticed her reaction and gulped audibly. His Adam's Apple bobbed. "I'm sorry, he does that..."

"No, it's alright," Mel waved his words off and smiled softly. She placed her glass of water on the kitchen table, setting it near a Petri dish housing what looked like fingernail clippings.

Sherlock cocked a brow. "You're not offended."

The young woman shrugged. She leaned against the doorframe. Her hands were spread, palms up. "Why would I be upset? You barely deduced anything correctly, Mr. Holmes."

The room went silent. Mrs. Hudson dropped a dish she was cleaning in the soapy water. It clattered loudly, possibly breaking against the bottom of the sink. John's jaw dropped with a quiet _pop. _ He looked back and forth between the two of them..

Sherlock's face went void all emotion. His entire body tensed as if he'd been stabbed with a cattle prod. "_What_ did you just say?"

Mel shrugged, brushing off the vehement way in which the man spat his words. "I'm disappointed. I thought a consulting detective would have heightened skills in the art of deduction."

Sherlock inhaled sharply through his nose. The tension between them was almost tangible enough to cut with a sword. "How do you..." He stalked up the her abruptly, stopping only inches away. Mel could feel his hot breath wash against her face. "What did I get wrong?"

She smiled coyly. "Oh, Mr. Holmes. You're taking all the fun out of the chase."

"Tell me, or get out," he bluffed. The man would've pulled it off if the nerve under his eye hadn't twitched.

"I'd rather not. You did say you were bored."

A deep rumbling sounded from the back of his throat. "Who. Are. You."

Mel tilted her head to the side. "Use your eyes, Mr. Holmes."

His lips pulled into an unflattering sneer. "I _am_."

The woman sighed, deciding to put him out of his misery. It would avoid any further destruction. "My name is Melina McAllister. I'm Scottish. My parents aren't retired, they've passed away. I've had the freckles since I was born, along with the blonde highlights. I did just graduate, which is the only thing you correctly identified. You could have figured that out easily if you asked Mrs. Hudson. I graduated Yale with a degree in Neurobiology. Lastly, I'm a professional dancer." She paused. "Your name is on your mail," She pointed to the envelopes under a human liver. "Don't be so dramatic."

The room was still.

"Alright, so you're a dancer..." Sherlock spat with no small amount of resentment. "Lyrical."

"Ballet," Mel corrected. She watched as the man gritted his teeth and moved away, retreating back to his microscope. The woman stepped forward, pushing away from the wall to follow him. "No you don't. It's my turn now, Mr. Holmes." The handsome man froze. "Your face is symmetrical and almost perfect, if it weren't for the slope of your brow and your sallow complexion. I gather this is from not eating. You don't care for food. You have severed limbs and disturbing experiments in the same area one would prepare a meal. The dark circles under your eyes suggest you rarely sleep, probably too busy solving cases or playing your violin on the chair. 'How do you know it's not John's', you ask? Because there's a dark hair caught in the bowstring, the obvious calluses on the pads of your fingers, and the practiced arch of your neck. You groom yourself more than other men. While in their own home, most men would wear jeans and a sweater, like John. But you have to be superior. In every single aspect of your life, you require superiority. This is because of a loss of parental figures, physically or emotionally in your past. You have an older brother. He most likely works for the government or the military. Your relationship is strained and distant, but he cares for you in a strange way. There are military grade button cameras in some if the spines of your books. Your experiments are clever, I'll give you that. You don't care that people think it's disturbing, because you have very few friends. John and Mrs. Hudson are most likely the closest people to you. Conclusion: You are an egotistical consulting detective who buries himself in his work to use his genius and hide from his personal life."

Mel calmly reached for her cup of water and took a long sip, holding the glass with the napkin and sipping without touching the rim. _Might as well make it as hard as possible to retrieve my fingerprints. If he has police resources, he can use their technology. _The redhead sighed in satisfaction as the cool water soothed her dry throat.

John turned to her. "What do you see in me?"

She finished off her water and passed the empty glass to Mrs. Hudson, who was still washing the dishes. The landlady looked almost fearful as she took it. Mel smiled softly at John. "An army doctor discharged from Afghanistan because of gunshot wound to the shoulder, causing a psychosomatic limp."

_Have I gone too far? Should I not have started this..?_

John nodded in awe, tampering down some of her worry. "Brilliant..."

Mel waved off the praise. "It's nothing special. I've done it since I was little. Drove my parents up the wall-"

"You beat me."

She paused, turning to Sherlock. He looked completely shell-shocked. As if his entire world had been flipped upside down. It reminded Mel of the look small children had when they were told Santa Claus didn't exist. It was almost heart wrenching. She took in his expression before answering. He looked _defeated_. "Yes." It was a simple answer that would hopefully cause the man as little pain as possible.

_Why do you care?! He's an asshole!_

_No. He's arrogant. It's completely different. _

_Not really, McAllister. _

Sherlock circled her, watched her every move. His eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you gloating?"

The dancer shrugged. "It's unnecessary and unbecoming."

He nodded. "Noble. You did incredibly well. Your IQ must be what, 170?"

"189."

John whistled under his breath. "Sherlock's 190."

Mel smirked, extending her hand towards the attractive man. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Holmes."

_Stop calling him handsome and attractive! What's gotten into you?!_

Sherlock met her half way and they shook. Mel noticed how large and warm his hand was. Slim fingers engulfed hers. At the same moment, they stepped closer and subtly pressed against each other's wrist. The man smelt of expensive cologne, cigarettes, and mint. The mix was strangely intoxicating. Mel shook her head slightly, trying to clear her thoughts.

"And you, Miss McAlister." _Oh. He's speaking again... Why are we still holding hands?_ The shaking of the hands had stopped moments earlier. The two strangers stood incredibly close to one another, analysing their opponent's pulse. "You're not as dull as I originally deduced."

The smirk that pulled at the corner of the man's mouth ruffled her feathers. "That's interesting..." She started. "Because you're just as much the arrogant, self-absorbed prick that I thought you'd be," Mel shrugged nonchalantly before pausing and nodding her head. She turned to the man's flatmate. "It was nice to meet you as well, John."

The doctor seemed to be holding back a volcano of laughter. His face was tinged red. "It was nice to meet you, Mel."

The young woman smiled once more before moving back to the front door. She paused and nudged her shoes before slipping them on. A white rat came scurrying out of the black flat, running for a hole in the wall. Mel chuckled softly and put the shoes back on. When she looked up, she saw that Sherlock had followed her. He was only a hairsbreadth away. Mel took in the scent of his cologne his time. It had notes of amber and musk in it.

"You aren't taken aback by any of my experiments..." He pointed out. His brow creased in what looked like confusion.

"Why should I be? They're quite elementary in nature."

His frigid stare scoured her frame. "You're an interesting puzzle that I _will_ solve. I will not spare your feelings-"

"From your little display earlier and the lack of friends you have, I can't say I'm terribly surprised."

His hand suddenly snaked out, grazing her wrist to find a pulse so he could derive a baseline. It was definitely quicker compared to when he tested it earlier. _Why? What changed?_ He asked himself. _Could it be my proximity? _

"If that was you, taking my pulse, you should be more subtle." Mel laughed softly. "You did well before-"

All of a sudden, Sherlock grasped the back of her head in his large hand and brought his lips to hers, effectively cutting off her words. He kissed her furiously, attempting to derive some sort of reaction from her. Her lips were soft under his brutal kiss, he noticed. But she didn't move. At all. Her mouth was stoic against his bruising advances. This frustrated Sherlock even more than before. The pulsing of her blood didn't change. She just stood until his experiment had finished. Holmes pulled away, breathing heavily. His body was reacting as a normal male's did. She was all soft curves and pale flesh.

Mel looked up at him with a blank expression. "May I leave now, Mr. Holmes?" She attempted to keep her tone as level as possible. It didn't waver. _Is this all a game? That's... cruel..._

Sherlock looked stunned by the reaction. "Your hormones should have skyrocketed. A reasonably attractive man just kissed you, and you show absolutely no signs-"

Mel stepped forward. Their chests brushed. She stood up on the tips of her toes, her lips grazed the exposed patch of pale skin just below the man's ear. "If a man kisses me _properly_, Mr. Holmes, he will always obtain a reaction."

Sherlock went rigid as he willed his body to not react to her words. His protesting failed miserably.

The woman pulled away, sensing a victory. "Now, I've had a very long flight, and I'm wishing you a good night."

_What is happening to you? You just met her! _The detective was in shock. "Y-yes. Of course." He opened the door for her and Mrs. Hudson followed behind, wiping her hands off on a small dishtowel. "Goodbye Miss McAllister. It has been a pleasure."

She smirked. "You're going to have to work harder if you want to figure me out, Mr. Holmes."

"I will relish in the moment when I do."

"Goodbye."

"Goodnight."

The door closed behind them. Mrs Hudson led her up another staircase before reaching a door. "This is your place dear."

She unlocked the door. It was much the same as Sherlock's, but it was certainly cleaner. It was already fully furnished.

"Thank you again, Mrs. Hudson."

"No problem dear. Sleep well."

"Goodnight."

The elderly woman gave her the keys before departing.

Mel placed her bag on the kitchen table. She looked around for all the nooks and crannies for several minutes before she became bored. She swept the hardwood floor, thinking about its potential. The young woman pushed all the furniture to the far wall, not really needing to use any of it. This left a large rectangular area perfect for practicing. She slipped off her shoes. The redhead pulled out a pair of worn silk ballet slippers and professional Pointe shoes from her leather satchel. The woman changed out of her button down and pulled on a tight sports bra. She left her leggings on and fixed her hair into a severe bun at the top of her head.

She began stretching. Sighing, she expelled the tension from her joints and muscles. She rolled her neck, smiling as a sense of calm filled her.

It was at least ten at night. Instead of getting ready for sleep, she was going to practice. It was what she always did instead of sleep. Rest was necessary, but only for a couple hours every few days. She'd trained her body to withstand exhaustion. That was how she could complete her degree and still manage to dance professionally.

She pulled her ballet slippers on and stood. Using a chair at the kitchen table, she began a simple set of _plies _and _tendus_. Mel went through the various positions systematically. Next, she practiced _glissés_ and unending _rond de jambes._

Effectively warmed up, she found a large floor-length mirror in the bedroom and brought it out to the main room. She began to practice arabesques and pirouettes on demi Pointe. She managed to get six turns in on the grimy wooden floor before she ended in third position, back curved. _I'm going to have to break in my new Pointe shoes before the main audition, _she thought. _Maybe I could install some mirrors and a ballet barre into the wall. Even wax the wood floor... _

Before she'd left America, her Shoe Maker had produced several new pairs of shoes for her. It was hard to part from the Maker. Ballerinas and their Shoe Makers always had a companionable relationship. The Makers knew each specific need for the girls. Most of the time, a ballerina would go through her entire career with only one Shoe Maker because of the strong bond they had. It was hard knowing that she would have to trust another person with her dance career. If there were a few wrong stitches or the shape was wrong, it could endanger her livelihood.

The audition was in three days time. It wasn't long for her to break in the Pointe shoes, so she'd have to dance most of the days and nights.

_Petites_ and _Grand jetés_ were next. Mel skipped lightly across the floor before leaping high into the air, doing the splits and landing gracefully. She wiped her brow. The woman jogged back to her bag to check her phone.

**3:24 AM**

She sighed and put it down, going back to her practice.

That's when she heard it.

A violin. The music was undeniably beautiful and haunting.

_Sherlock_...

Then she heard John's voice croak through the floorboards underfoot. "Sherlock. It's three in the bloody morning..."

"Quite an astute observation, John!" Sherlock's arrogant voice called over his playing, which had grown more frantic.

"Can you please... just this once... _shut up_?!"

The music stopped. Mel frowned. Then boisterous fighting began. Not bothering to take off her ballet slippers, she rushed from the room, lightly padding down the stairs. She knocked on their door lightly.

The arguing quieted. "The door's open," Sherlock called.

Mel opened the door slowly. The handsome detective was standing in the living room in a silk navy housecoat. He turned to face her, taking in her state of dress. The hem of her shirt only reached the edge of her sports bra, revealing her flat belly. Tendrils of her rust-hues hair fell from her bun and brushed her temples.

"Ah, practicing where you? I barely heard your jumps on the floor." There was no sarcasm or dishonesty in his tone. It was the kindest comment to leave his mouth so far.

The woman bowed her head in thanks. "That's nice to hear, Mr. Holmes."

"What do you want?" He asked bluntly, reverting to his usual persona.

Mel barely held back the humor in her expression. "I want you to come play for me."

His brows converged. "Play for you?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Yes. John is annoyed by you, I'd love the music, and you want to practice."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Why would I do that for you?"

"Because you're a brilliant violinist. Mozart's violin sonata in G major, right?" He didn't respond. "_Please_, Sherlock?" She tried again. They stared at one another for a long moment. Their gazes locked.

"Fine," he sighed petulantly, tearing his eyes away. "What do I receive in return?"

"What would you like?" She asked, frowning imperceptibly.

"One question. Any question I ask, you must answer."

She thought over the stipulation carefully. _Don't. It's a bad idea. Think about the secrets this could uncover- _"Very well," Mel whispered, shoving her conscious back.

"Thank you, Mel... I owe you one..."John groaned from his bedroom.

"It's no trouble."

Mel led the way up into her apartment. She opened the door and waved for Sherlock to enter first.

He shook his head, taking the door. "Ladies first. I'm not entirely uncivilized."

"I wasn't suggesting any sort of a thing-"

She was cut off when the detective pushed her through the doorway. "No you are_ certainly_ civilized..." She growled sarcastically, looking up at him with an arched brow. He shrugged a single, rigid shoulder, not meeting her gaze as he closed the door with the hand not holding his violin and bow.

Mel moved to where her Pointe shoes were laying and sat on the ground. She slipped off her satin slippers. Her feet were only slightly red and calloused. "Can you pass me the roll of tape in my bag?" She asked the detective, massaging her feet. He grumbled childishly as he walked past her. She couldn't help but enjoy the elegant movement of his steps. He was incredibly handsome. _Slim, tall, well dressed... And that bone structure. Dear lord, his face is like it's carved from marble-_ Her thoughts were cut off when a roll of tape was tossed harshly at her. She caught it midair and started to tape up her toes and heels.

Sherlock fell into an armchair against the far wall and began playing. He was continuing his piece from earlier. His eyes followed her practiced movements. Her petite hands worked deftly as she taped her feet. There was something strangely sensual to Sherlock, seeing her move with such ease. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feisty redhead as much as he could.

When she finished, Mel took her pointe shoes in hand and started bending the shank. It let out a few cracking and popping noises before it softened. She'd already sewed an elastic over the top so it wouldn't fall off and sewed in the ribbon to lace up her ankle and calf. She liked having a stiff box at her toe, enjoying the support and length it gave her extension. Mel slipped them on and laced them up. They were uncomfortable, but they needed many hours to work in. Experimentally, she stood in front of the kitchen chair again. She stood with her feet together and parallel and began taking simple prances up and down. One foot at a time, she stood up en pointe. Rolling from demi to full, then demi to pointe. Finally, the redhead completed _releves _in first position, then on only one foot.

Mel went through many other of the simple things she'd completed earlier in her slippers. She followed the tempo of Sherlock's music, melting with the movements. The box of the shoes, the square piece at the tip of the toes, clicked annoyingly across the hardwood, but once the shoes softened, it would be much softer. The woman went through her leaps, making sure to keep her chest up and chin high. It was difficult without mirrors all around her, but she would have to make do.

Sherlock's music swirled, reflecting her skilled and perfected movements. The vibrato of the notes wavered through the apartment.

The sun had begun to rise, peaking through the blinds and lighting up the room in a warm glow.

Knowing she had maybe an hour at the most, Mel worked on her _fouettés_ and pirouettes _en Pointe_. On her final fouetté, she managed fourteen turns on the rough floorboards. She watched Sherlock to spot her turns. Feeling her stare, he opened his eyes for the first time in hours. Their gazes locked. Cool blue eyes battled emerald green. Her spins slowed, despite her swift kicks. With a quiet sigh, the young lady ended in fourth position.

Seeing that she was finished, Sherlock's playing softened. Sweet notes trailed off before fading altogether.

Mel sighed contentedly and sat on the ground. She began unlacing the satin ribbons around her ankles and slipped off her shoes. She swore under her breath at the sight of her feet. They were red and swollen, and there was a large blister on the bottom of her left foot. Tucking her bangs behind her ear, she began removing the tape. Mel stood, limping to her bag. The painful welts on her feet made her wince. She fell into the kitchen chair heavily.

Sherlock didn't speak as he watched the woman clean and bandage her wounds. He just watched her methodic movements closely. It was obvious they were almost a ritual because of the previous scars and calluses she had. It was strange that he didn't deduced that she wasn't a dancer to begin with. She couldn't be more than five foot five inches and weighed between ninety and one hundred pounds. There was no way that she could've been a model, even with her beauty, because of her height. _Why were my observations so misguided?_ He didn't know the reason. All of the deductions were staring him right in the face... yet his brain hadn't recognized any of them. There were only question marks. Perhaps his human brain needed sleep. It _had_ been seventy-nine hours since he'd rested-

"Thank you very much for the lovely music, Sherlock. It was kind of you to play for me," Mel smiled up at him as she finished bandaging her feet.

The detective nodded. A dark curl fell over his brow and into his eyes. "You're welcome. It was... calming... for me to watch you dance. You are... a beautiful dancer."

Mel couldn't hide the flush that filled her cheeks. "That's kind of you to say," she hummed as she stood, only wincing slightly at the throbbing in her feet. She slipped her button down over her upper half. The woman walked towards Sherlock and sat in another chair beside him. "Now, I must pay the debt. What is your question?"

Sherlock had tried to think of the perfect question all night long. He finally settled on something that would give him the most information. "How did your parents die?" It was abrupt and straight to the point.

_I told you. You shouldn't have agreed-_ "There was a home invasion." Mel sighed. "My father told me hide under my bed. The intruder shot him, my mother- who was pregnant at the time, and my younger brother. I hid for so long..." The woman paused, eyes far away. She shook herself, as if she didn't wish to be too close to the memory. "...Then the police showed up. A week later, I was adopted by my grandparents," she finished in a frank tone.

Sherlock took in her calm reaction with thoughtful eyes. He nodded, accepting the answer. Psychologically speaking, it was incredible that the woman had sprung back from such a tragedy and become so successful. "Is that why you strive to suppress your emotions so well?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

She just smiled, not giving anything away. "The deal was only for one question, Mr. Holmes. If you wish to have another, you will have to play for me again."

His pale lips pursed. "Fine. Tonight, I will return." With that, he picked up his violin and bow. "I have a case today, so John and I will be out of the flat-" He paused. "Pass me your mobile."

Mel walked back to her bag, picked it up and passed her phone to him. Their fingers brushed. Sherlock ignored the touch of her small, warm fingers and swiftly punched numbers into the phone. he gave it back second later.

"That is my number. If you need me, call. I answer it anytime and anywhere." He stopped. "Well... unless I'm at a crime scene... Or thinking."

Mel nodded as she took the phone back. "Thank you," she hummed quietly. She made sure not to touch his fingers again.

"I may also call you, if I require something. I will only ask if the situation is dire."

"That sounds reasonable. I'll text you so you can get my number."

Sherlock shook his head. "I went the properties of your mobile and memorized your number." He turned and walked to the door.

Mel shook her head but followed, opening the door for him. "See you tonight."

He nodded. "It's a date."

The redhead raised a brow.

"N-no I didn't mean a _date_." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head roughly. "Dear god, I need sleep."

Mel giggled, covering her lips with her hand. "It's fine. Goodbye, Sherlock. Good luck on your case."

The handsome man stopped. "Luck is an offensive, abhorrent concept. The idea that there is a force in the universe, tilting events in your favor or against it is utterly ridiculous. _Idiots _rely on luck-" He stopped. The beautiful woman's giggles grew in volume. Her green eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were flushed from her practice. Tendrils of shining, red hair fell from her bun. _Stop looking at her like that. Relationships are messy. Walk away. Now._ That final though spurred him into motion. He left immediately- leaping down the stairs, anxious to return to the safety of his flat.

The woman crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she watched the handsome man in his satin blue housecoat fly down the stairs to his apartment. She couldn't help but notice how the muscles in his shoulders rippled as he moved.

_Maybe staying here won't be that bad..._ Mel shook herself out of her reverie, internally smacking herself for the ridiculous thought before slamming her apartment door.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading!_**


	3. Chapter 3: Eros and Cupid

**Hey there! Hope you enjoy the chapter :D**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel and her story.**

* * *

Mel woke to the sound of her phone ringing. She groaned, rolling over to reach her cell on the bedside table.

"Hello?" Her voice was rough with sleep. She rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes, sitting up.

"Good morning Miss McAllister."

The distinct voice immediately woke her.

"Sherlock? Is something wrong?" She asked, sliding out of bed.

"I'm at a crime scene and I would enjoy your perspective."

The woman groaned. "You said you'd only call me if the need was _dire_..."

The voice paused. "Someone has _died, _Miss McAllister. I find it quite insensitive that you would not consider that dire in any way."

She pulled the phone away so she could take a deep, calming breath. She put it back to her ear.

"You're right, Mr Holmes. I apologize for my irritability. What do you need?"

"-Accepted. Come to Piccadilly Circus. Its approximately two miles from 221B Baker Street, so be here within thirty minutes."

The line went dead.

Mel exhaled, looking at the time.

9:32 AM

She'd only been asleep for two hours.

The redhead had known the consulting detective for less than twenty-four hours and she was already tired of his holier-than-thou attitude.

Even though he was a genius, it didn't mean he needed to be a complete... what did the English say? Ah yes... _wanker. _

The pain in her feet was only a dull throbbing as she padded across the wooden floor to the bathroom. She took her bag with her, thankful she'd brought travel-sized shampoo and conditioner as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste.

The bathroom was nice: lights lined the mirror above, the tub served as both a shower and bathing tub, and the sink was made of granite. Everything was a plain off-white. Mel made sure that she'd attempt to paint the walls or change the shower curtain.

There were a lot of this she wished she could do. Hopefully when she got the position with the Royal Ballet she would receive enough funds to clean up her small flat and purchase new clothes. This would be easier if her things from America would arrive soon.

Mel turned on the water, letting it warm up while she quickly brushed her teeth.

Sherlock had given her half an hour to shower, do her makeup, hair and get change. That didn't include the ten minutes it'd take to actually get there.

Mel swished water in her mouth before stripping her pajamas off and jumping in the shower.

She lathered and scrubbed her hair hastily, cursing when she tugged the roots. She combed her slender fingers through the wet tresses. The length reached just under her breasts. The hue was no longer a vivid red, but a dark rust. Once the suds had rinsed away, she hastily shaved her legs- thankfully not cutting herself. She could only imagine that Sherlock would manage to deduce from her cutting herself.

_You were quick to get here. Is it possible you have feelings for me? You shed your own blood to ensure that you arrive on time. Was this to impress me? Or to establish yourself as a trustworthy ally?_

Mel shook the thoughts from her head and finished by applying a small amount out conditioner before rinsing once more and shutting off the water.

She jumped out of the white porcelain tub; thankful that Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to leave a fluffy white bath towel.

The woman dried her hair and body before running to her bag and checking her phone.

9:39 AM

The soaked redhead grabbed some of her makeup and sprinted back to the bathroom.

She had a small container of moisturizer, concealer, an eyeshadow palette, mascara and gloss. She also had all of her brushes. She patted the moisturizer on, knowing if she rubbed it in, Sherlock would be able to tell. The skin would be distinctly pink and minutely traumatized. Dabbing a bit of concealer under her eyes, around her nose, and chin, she created the false look of a full night's rest. Using several different brushes and eyeshadow, Mel patted a light skin color on her lids, contoured the sockets of her eyes with a deep maroon, making her deep green eyes pop. With a black eyeshadow to double as a liner on her lash line and a few coats of mascara, her eyes looked large and striking. A small amount of clear gloss finished the look.

Nodding at her reflection in approval, Mel stripped her towel off and found a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a emerald chiffon blouse in her bag. She tugged everything on, glancing at her phone again.

9:44 AM

"Jesus, Holmes," she cursed, pulling her hair back into a high bun so the wetness of it wasn't as noticeable. Her bangs framed her petite face, showing off her high cheekbones and stunning features.

Lastly, she fastened her usual pearl earrings into place. She grabbed her black leather jacket that was in her bag and threw it on. Just as she was leaving, she snatched up her bag, keys and phone before rushing out the door.

The small woman flew down the stairs, feet barely touching the ground. She zipped past the boy's apartment and jumped down the final stairs.

Just as she was about to burst out the door and into the bright morning light, Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her flat. "Oh good morning dear. How did you sleep?"

"Quite well," she lied smoothly, a false smile in place. "Thank you for the blankets and the towels. None of my things will arrive from America in a few days."

"Oh you sweet thing! It's no trouble at all! Now where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Mr. Holmes has summoned me to a crime scene." Mel couldn't hold back the annoyance of being _summoned_.

The old lady waved a hand. "Then you don't worry about talking with me. You can't keep a man like that waiting!"

Mel smirked. "I wouldn't like to be at the receiving end of one if his temper tantrums. It's a miracle John manages to put up with him."

"Oh those two are thick as thieves. Enough about them! You have a crime scene to get to!"

Mel opened the door quickly but hesitated and turned back. "Would you care to have some tea with me this afternoon, Mrs. Hudson? I would love us to have a chance to chat; you know, just us girls." The redhead whispered with a coy wink.

Mrs Hudson's hand flew to the neck of her deep purple dress in surprise. "That would be lovely, dear!"

Mel grinned. "Fantastic. See you later Mrs Hudson!"

She jumped down the steps leading to 221B Baker Street and the black door closed behind her.

9:48 AM

There was still a high probability she could make it on time. She ran to the main street, adjusting the leather strap of her bag across her body.

"Taxi!" She cried loudly, flagging one down.

It drove straight past, apparently already having someone inside. Or the driver was just a moron.

Mel cursed under her breath. She lifted her fingers to her mouth. An ear piercing whistle escaped the woman's petite frame. Three taxis skidded to a stop. Smirking, the redhead slid into the nearest one.

"Piccadilly Circus please. As fast as you possibly can."

The cabbie turned to look at her. "I don't think that's a good idea. A fella was just found murdered."

She smirked. "Then that's precisely where I want to go."

The man rolled his eyes before turning to face the windshield. The tires squealed as the pulled away from the curb.

Exactly seven minutes later, the car pulled up to a large junction of street that looked quite a bit like Times Square in New York.

Mel thanked the man, passing him a few bills, and exited the car, slipping onto the pavement. Her black flats clicked lightly against the cement as she walked towards the gathering of people outside of yellow police tape.

The dancer weaved elegantly through the crowd, avoiding touching the people so her mind was mostly clear of observations. She reached the front of the conglomeration. A dark skinned police woman was doing crowd control.

"Excuse me-!" Mel called over the ruckus.

The woman rolled her eyes snidely. "The police aren't ready to give any statement to the press as of yet."

"-I'm actually looking for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Could you tell him I've arrived?"

The woman looked taken aback. "You're too pretty to be here to see Freak. You sure you got that name right?"

Mel raised a brow. "Just tell him, 'Miss McAllister is here,' alright?"

Her patience was already wavering and she hadn't even seen the consulting detective yet.

The policewoman sneered unflatteringly. "You know, he enjoys this sort of thing. I'd bet you Ten quid that one of these days he'll do something just as twisted as this, just to get off on it. Don't get close to him. You might be-"

"Miss McAllister!"

Looking fairly dashing in a black wool coat and navy scarf, was Sherlock Holmes. The bottom of the coat reached his knees and the collar showed off his sculpted jaw. He looked equal parts mysterious and handsome.

Mel smiled softly as he came up to her, lifting the police tape. She attempted to ignore the sudden irrational desire that sparked within her at the sight of the man. She ducked under the tape, ignoring the policewoman's cries.

"You can't come in here! This is a crime scene!"

Sherlock spun around to face her, obviously not as forgiving. "Oh pipe down, Donovan! Everyone knows you're only bitching because you didn't get to shag Anderson last night. His poor, oblivious wife, finally came home from her business trip."

A giggle bubbled up in Mel's throat. She turned to face Sherlock to hide her grin. On impulse, she glanced up at the man. She could've sworn she saw the slightest of smirks curl his pale lips when her looked down at her.

The woman's cheeks flared. Her dark eyes flashed. "Mind your own business, Freak. Take your little girlfriend with you."

Mel flushed the color of her hair. "Wait, I'm not his-"

"With pleasure," Sherlock hummed, taking hold of the dancer's wrist, dragging her through the barricaded plaza.

A monument of an angel stood on top of a fountain. It held a bow in its hands. The water inside the fountain was a disturbing blood red color. Beside the monument, a body-shaped lump laid under a plastic sheet to conceal the victim's identity.

Sherlock dropped her hand as soon as they were out of Donovan's sight.

The redhead's smile wavered as they approached the body.

"Tell me what you know of the memorial." Sherlock ordered. Mel glanced up at the detective. His angular face looked straight ahead. This was his forte; where he was most comfortable. And he was testing her.

"It's the famous statue of Eros; one of the most recognizable symbols of London. Also known as the Shaftesbury Monument, it's a memorial to the philanthropist Lord Shaftesbury. Eros is made out of aluminium, at that time it was created it was a rare and novel material. He is the Greek god of love, related to the roman Cupid. The son of Aphrodite, he used a bow and arrow to bring lovers together."

Sherlock nodded. "Precisely. Well done, miss McAllister."

She accepted the praise with a gracious bow of her head. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

Their gazes looked for a moment too long. It reminded Mel of the previous day when he played his violin for her. Obviously not fond of sentimental moments, the detective cleared his throat. "Now come, I want you to see the body."

Mel stopped dead. Her heart stuttered. "No," she breathed, retreating slowly.

Sherlock walked several steps before realizing she'd stopped moving. "Is there a problem?" He asked, raising an inquisitive brow.

She didn't move, gazing at the body that was still covered in the sheet. "I apologize, but I am unprepared to see a dead body this morning-"

She was cut off as Sherlock placed a large hand on her back and began pushing her forward. "You're prepared, Miss McAllister. You haven't eaten in approximately forty-eight hours, meaning there is no possible way that you can vomit."

He nodded to a man wearing a blue forensics suit. His hair was cut in the shape of a bowl. When his beady eyes fell on Mel, he grinned. "Well hello! Has my Christmas present come early this year-?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smacked the man upside his head. "Shut up, Anderson! Honestly, what did I say about talking? The IQ of the entire street is reaching single digits!" The deep timbre of his voice spat out the insults, managing to divert Anderson's attention from the woman.

The man grumbled and walked away without much of a fight.

Mel looked up at Sherlock. "That was truly superb, Mr. Holmes."

He smirked. "People don't usually say that-"

She swiftly placed a finger on his lips, immediately quietening him.

"-The next time you do not let me fight my own battles, I'll hide your violin for a _week_."

His eyes shot down to the woman in front of him. "I can find anything-"

She attempted not to think of the way his velvet lips moved against her fingers.

The redhead stood on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. "Not when I hide something," she smirked, ignoring the look of astonishment on his face as she walked away.

John was crouched over the mass. He looked up as she approached. "Oh good morning Mel. You look lovely today."

She couldn't help but smile. "That's quite sweet of you, John."

The doctor nodded slightly. "I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true." He stood up so he could face her. "I need to thank you. Last night was the first full night of sleep I've had since I've returned from-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "There's a dead man on the pavement, and you're _flirting_. Really, John?

Mel patted John's arm as a roaring blush filled his cheeks.

"What happened?" She asked, effectively changing the subject.

He reached down and pulled back the sheet. "You tell me."

Mel repressed the urge to run.

So much blood...

_Caucasian male, mid-thirties, sustained an arrow to the heart. Cause of death: traumatic aortic rupture. Blood loss would cause victim to pass out in less than fifteen seconds and death in sixty. A healthy adult male has five litres of blood. Therefore, the amount of blood suggests he was most likely killed inside the fountain- accounting for the water's red hue- and taken out after the fact. Black arrow, most likely from a hunting compound bow. Depth of the arrow and blood spatter suggest a long-range shot. Killer is a highly skilled hunter. Either the killer came back afterwards to lift the man from the water, or a bystander did. _

"A healthy adult male between the ages of thirty-three and thirty-five. He's an avid runner, due to his muscular grouping and tone. It's also obvious because of his expensive running shoes and outfit. He was out on a late night run, most likely because he has insomnia. _How do you know_? Because of the heavy bags under his eyes and a small amount of weight gain on the belly and face. This came be caused by eating too much junk food, or from taking Melatonin, a natural sleep aid. Since he's an athlete, the second is much more likely. Time of death was most likely between midnight and three this morning. Cause of death was a traumatic aortic rupture, causing him to fully bleed out in less than a minute. He felt little to no pain. The killer used a compound bow. The killer is a male, between the age of twenty five to thirty. He's an fervent hunter. Most likely grew up near the woods or on farm. He's charming and unassuming. He was able to carry a bow around without anyone really paying attention. Most likely Caucasian as well, considering most killers don't like to venture outside their own race. Did you know that eighty six percent of-"

She looked up and stopped. Sherlock had his hands pressed together as if in prayer, the tips of his fingers touching his lips. His eyes were closed.

Mel looked over at John in confusion.

The doctor shrugged. "This is what he looks like when he goes into his Mind Palace."

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "I'm _thinking _John."

"You let her talk when you're thinking," the doctor pointed out.

Eyes still closed, Sherlock smirked. "Miss McAllister verbalized everything I'd previously deduced. It's much less irritating to hear a reflection of your own thoughts than having someone prattle on about nothing."

John gave him an affronted look. "Excuse me?! She repeated most of what I just told you!"

"Maybe her voice is just less obnoxious then," the detective hummed pensively.

The blonde man threw up his hands angrily. "You're ridiculous!"

"_Shush_, John... _Thinking_."

Mel shook her head at their childish banter. She turned away from the body, glancing out at the crowd.

Something caught her eye. At the very front of the swarm was a little girl. She was sitting on the pavement, sobbing.

Tilting her head, she observed the girl.

_Between the ages of three and five years old. No parent is with her. Why is she crying? Possibly lost her parent in the crowd; a devastating event for any child. No... her tears have dried and started again. Either she's been lost for a long time, or it's something else. Something worse. What could be worse than being lost? She's wearing pajamas. Obviously, she's been here for a long time. No shoes- didn't plan to be outside. Kidnapped? Possibly..._

Mel looked at the child, following her line of sight. She was looking at the body...

It clicked.

"Oh god-" She breathed.

She took off at a sprint.

"Mel!"John's voice shouted after her.

She ignored him.

The pounding of her feet on the pavement thundered in her ears. Her heart sunk into her stomach.

She slowed to a walk as she reached the girl. Her chocolate brown eyes widened as the woman crouched in front of her. Her face was red and puffy.

"My name is Mel," the dancer breathed, kneeling so they could face one another.

The little girl drew her knees close to her chest and peered at the woman. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers..."

Mel smiled softly. "Well I just introduced myself... so I'm not a stranger, am I?"

"I guess not..." she sniffed wiping her small nose with the back of her hand.

The dancer reached into her bag and pulled out a tissue. "Here," she offered.

The little girl looked between the woman's hand and her green eyes. Not recognizing any sort of deception, she slowly took the tissue in her small fist. She brought it to her face and tried to blow her nose. Smiling sadly, Mel took the Kleenex and helped her, pressing it to her nose. She obviously recognized this action from a parent or guardian. She blew her nose quickly.

Mel wiped the girl's tears and threw the dirty tissue into a nearby trash bin before coming back. She kneeled in front of the child again.

"You must be a very big girl to be out here by yourself."

Her perceptive eyes fell on the girl's pajamas. They had Dora the Explorer on them.

The girl gave her a watery smile. "I'm four." She held up the amount of fingers.

Mel's heart throbbed. She smiled back. "My goodness, you are a big girl! How old do you think I am?"

The girl paused, looking her up and down. "One hundred?"

She couldn't help the laugh that consumed her. "I'm twenty-three!" She reached forward to ruffle the girl's brunette curls.

Her little face scrunched up. "I was close..."

She nodded very seriously, her laughs quieting. "Yes, ma'am. You were."

"I'm Kailey," she introduced finally, deeming that the older woman wasn't a threat.

"That's a very brave name. Kind of like Dora," the dancer grinned. The girl smiled shyly. She reached out a hand to the girl. "How about we be brave together and try to find your mum?"

Kailey shook her small head but took Mel's hand. "Mummy's in heaven... Daddy doesn't talk about her..." She watched as her brown eyes flitted behind her.

The woman's heart throbbed. She helped the girl stand. Her little arms reached up, signaling that she wanted to be carried. Instead of making her walk across the plaza in bare feet, Mel lifted Kailey into her arms. She was so light. Kailey wrapped her arms and legs around the woman, hugging her like a koala bear.

"Do you have someone I can call? An Aunt or Uncle?" She asked as she began walking back to Sherlock.

The girl's face lit up. "Daddy kept saying that I should call 9...9...9."

"That's very good, Kailey." Mel swallowed. Any human would find the situation tortuous. "Can you tell me anything about what happened?"

Her features scrunched up. "The Bad Man..." Then she started quivering and let out a quiet whimper.

Mel rubbed her back soothingly. "It's alright, Kailey. He's not going to get you."

She didn't want them to get too close to the body. "Sherlock! John! I need you!" She called.

John's head snapped to her. His eyes widened at the sight of the girl in her arms. Sherlock was still in his Mind Palace, but his brow was now creased with frustration.

The doctor smacked his flatmate, breaking him out of his trance. Just as Sherlock was about to scold him, John pointed to Mel. Sherlock stopped. His cool grey eyes fell on her. He took a moment, just observing her expression and the child. His head inclined slowly in understanding, as if this was the piece of the puzzle he'd been searching for.

Mel felt Kailey poke the pearls in her ears with a pudgy finger.

"Pretty..." the girl sighed.

Mel's arms tightened around her. "You think so?"

Kailey nodded. The girls smiled at one another.

Sherlock jumped into action. As he ran, his black coat swirled around him. John quickly followed.

The redhead turned to the girl and gave her another smile. "I want you to meet my friends. This is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

Sherlock's jaw clenched in protest. "I don't have friends-"

Mel sent him a dirty glare, cutting him off. "Gentlemen, this is Kailey."

The consulting detective looked as if he were disgusted by the child. "It's a pleasure." He reached out his hand for her to shake.

John elbowed him. The doctor smiled and gave her a small wave. "Nice to meet you, Kailey."

The little girl looked at Sherlock's hand for a moment. Suddenly, she turned her tiny face into Mel's neck, hiding shyly.

She rubbed Kailey's back in comforting circles. "It's alright. These are my friends. They're here to help find the Bad Man."

The girl went still against her. She pulled away slightly to look at Mel's face. "Are they gonna help daddy?"

Mel smiled softly. "They'll try their best, Kailey. How about we go find someone to get you some breakfast?"

She grinned hopefully. "Some toast and jam?"

Mel laughed, ruffling the child's curls. "Whatever you want, honey."

She sent Holmes and John a look before walking off with the girl to find an officer. She chatted aimlessly about her dolls. After a couple of minutes, they found Donovan. Before the woman could protest, Mel told her what had happened. She passed Kailey into her arms.

"I'll bring her to Lestrade," she stated immediately, walking away.

Kailey waved happily back at Mel as she was taken away. The woman waved back.

Her heart wept.

"Wait!" She called, running after them.

Donovan paused, turning back. Mel took out her peal earrings, clipped them together, and placed them delicately in Kailey's small hand.

"Someone brave deserves something pretty."

The girl's brown eyes went wide as she stared at the pearls. "Really?"

"Really." She pressed a kiss on her brunette curls, closing her little fist so she wouldn't lose them.

Donovan gave the woman a strange look before taking the girl away.

She sighed, rubbing her brow to expel the tension from her body as she walked back to the boys.

His eyes were narrowed in thought, watching her.

"I didn't deduce you to be the motherly type."

She shrugged. "I wish someone would've been there for me when my family was killed."

John's head snapped to her in surprise, but he didn't say a word.

Sherlock gazed at her for several more minutes before shaking himself. "That was the victim's daughter," he stated. Mel nodded. "The killer took the child from her bed and made her watch as he shot her father. Her father just returned from his run... The killer followed him home..." He trailed off, looking back to the woman.

He took a step towards her, narrowing his eyes. "You were put in an unbearable situation, especially a woman you suffered a similar loss in her past. But you aren't showing any reaction at _all..._"

Mel sighed. "Deal with it Mr. Holmes. There are things I'm better at than you."

"I-I am not _jealous,_ if that's what your tone is implying!" He cried in outrage.

She stepped close to him and patted his chest patronizingly. "Yes you are."

He growled, swatting her hand away. "This conversation is becoming dull."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm going to grab some breakfast. Do you want to come with me, Mel?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

"Do you want anything Sherlock?" John asked politely.

"You know for a fact I do not eat until the end of a case, John. I know you're trying to be polite... but stop."

The doctor's mouth snapped shut.

Mel sighed and linked her arm through his. "Come. I bet you can show me the best place to get pastries around here."

They walked off, leaving the crime scene. Mel could feel Sherlock's calculating stare on her. She turned to look back.

Sherlock Holmes had disappeared.

* * *

It was mid afternoon when John and Mel arrived back at the flat.

After grabbing a breakfast of pastries and tea, they chatted. John told her all of the small things about him that she hadn't already deduced. He attempted to ask her a few questions, but she sidestepped them, saying that he should do most of the talking while they were out of the apartment. He seemed more at ease without Sherlock there to badger him.

Once they had eaten their fill, John paid- despite the redhead's protests. The army doctor walked with her around the London, showing her the landmarks and tourist sites. Mel enjoyed herself thoroughly. John was easy to get along with and was pleasant company. Throughout the day, she caught herself smiling genuinely and laughing along with his jokes.

When the sun was directly above, John suggested they go out for Chinese for lunch. Despite her lack of monetary funds, she paid for their lunch. The doctor objected profusely, but she insisted. If they were going to be friends, they had to have a sense of balance.

They took a taxi back to the flat.

They walked up the stairs together.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" John asked hopefully, opening the door to his apartment.

Mel shook her head. "I'd love to, but I'm about to have tea with Mrs. Hudson."

The blonde man smiled kindly. "Alright, see you later."

"Goodbye, John."

Tea with Mrs. Hudson was also enjoyable. The two women spoke of life at Baker Street. She told Mel about the boys and talked about some of their crimes.

It was dark outside when the woman left the landlady and finally returned to her flat.

Sighing tiredly, the woman took her key out of her bag and opened the door to her apartment. She threw her bag down on the table.

Stripping out of her clothes, the woman pulled on a pair of spandex shorts, a chiffon high-waisted circle skirt, and a black sports bra. The skirt was pretty and feminine in blush pink. It flowed beautifully when she danced.

Because she had spent the entire day out with John, her practice would have to be rigorous and lengthy.

Before she began warming up, Mel took out her practice pointe shoes and her slippers. Her feet didn't protest as much as she'd thought they would as she slid the slippers on. Smiling, she sat down and started her stretches.

She began with her hamstrings. Legs straight in front of her, she flexed her feet. She brought her head to her knees, literally folding her body in half. After a minute, she spread her legs into the splits and bent to touch her chin to the floor.

Her mind wandered as she went through the stretches.

* * *

_She felt hands wake her from pleasant dreams. Her father's face was above her, shrouded in darkness. His ginger hair was tousled, as if he'd just woken. _

_"Papa?" Her voice was high and full of naivety. "What's the matter?" _

_His emerald eyes kept glancing behind him, as if someone was about to come through the door. "Melina! My darling, I need you to listen very carefully." The Scottish accent in his voice was strained. _

_The young girl nodded and scrambled up from her bed. She noticed the look in her father's eye. He was afraid._

_"Papa, why are you scared?" She asked. Her small heart was beating like the wings of a hummingbird. "What's happening?" _

_He checked behind him again before turning to face the child. "There's a bad man in the house, do you understand?"_

_She shook her head, scarlet waves flowing down her back. "A man?"_

_Her father bit his lip and scratched his brow, as if he were attempting to find a way for her to understand. _

_"We're going to play a game, alright?"_

_She nodded and grinned. Melina loved games. _

_"Good. I need you to hide under the bed for me. Hide under the bed and don't come out, no matter what you hear." His words trembled as they fell from his lips. _

_"Like Hide-and-Seek?" The small child's wide eyes took in her father's posture. "How will I know when to come out? Will you come to get me?"_

_The man took his daughter in his arms and hugged her tightly. "I don't know, my darling. I'm sorry-"_

_His words were cut off by the sound of shattering glass. He pressed a kiss against Melina's red curls. "Mama and Papa love you more than anything, darling. Never forget that."_

_Her father helped her slide under the bed. His green eyes were glassy. "Be absolutely silent." He held a finger to his lips. _

_"Okay," she whispered back with a smile, copying his movements. "Is Peter playing too?"_

_He nodded, smiling shakily. "Yes, you're brother is playing too." A single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek. It fell onto the hardwood floor. The man wiped the wetness from his cheek hastily. "Don't be afraid, Melina."_

_He fixed the bed skirt so it would cover her from view. _

_Melina poked the tear with her small finger, drawing a small heart on the wood. _

_There was a loud bang. _

_She jumped, fear spreading through her like wildfire. Her eyes widened. _

_The bangs continued. _

_Then paused. _

_She heard footsteps outside her door. _

_She didn't like the loud noise. Melina cupped her hands over her ears. _

_The feet went away. _

_The loud noise started again. _

_BANG_

_BANG_

_BANG_

_Then everything was quiet. _

* * *

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

Mel cried out, whirling around.

"Sherlock..."

"I- I am sorry Miss McAllister..." His eyes widened slightly, taking in her expression. "Are you alright?"

The woman shivered. She could still hear the shots...

She felt fear rush through her bones.

The same fear from all those years ago.

"Melina?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

The woman was paralyzed.

She vaguely heard him call out something and yell for someone.

Mel felt strong arms move under her. She was lifted from the ground.

_BANG_

_BANG _

_BANG_

She winced every time the nose came. "There's so much red... why is there so much red?" Her voice was small. Distant... Like a child.

She looked up. Her emerald eyes overflowed with tears. The face above her was blurry. "You told me not to be afraid, Papa. Why are you crying?"

The face turned away. "John! I need you _now_!"

Footsteps pounded the wood floor.

Tears poured down her face. She didn't have the strength to hold her head up anymore. Her head lolled. Fiery red hair flowed around her like a waterfall.

"Please don't leave me, Papa. _Please_!" She sobbed.

A deep baritone voice rumbled through her. The arms tightened around her. "You're going to be fine Melina. You're safe now."

"Safe..." She hummed quietly.

Feet pounded on stairs.

There was a pause. "What the _hell _took you so long?"

"Oh my Lord... Mel? Can you hear me?" A different voice came next to her. Fingers grasped her wrist for several moments. "Sherlock, get her downstairs to the flat. _Now_-"

"Papa?" She called, reaching out blindly. "Is the game going to be like Hide-and-Seek?"

Her eyes drifted shut, relishing in the warmth surrounding her.

"Mel! No, you need to stay awake!"

Footsteps thundered.

"_Melina_-!"

The shouting faded.

Her body went limp.

Then the darkness consumed her, stealing the pain away from her mind.

* * *

**BTW, Listen to this with the full album by _Ólafur Arnalds - And They Have Escaped the Weight of the Darkness_. It sounds amazing with it. **

www . youtube . com watch?v=KRrX80qdaTI - **just add a forward slash between "com" and "watch" and remove the spaces x)**


	4. Chapter 4: Alone

**Hey everyone! I just wanted to thank you all so much for the kind reviews and for everyone who favorited/followed xD It makes me warm and fuzzy inside!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, but I do own Mel and her story.**

* * *

The first of Mel's senses to return was her sense of smell. All around her was the aroma of men's aftershave and cologne. Notes of sandalwood and musk wafted through the air. It surrounded her like a warm blanket.

_The sense of smell. One of the standard five senses, it is also known as Olfactory perception; a form of chemoreception- _

Suddenly, the remainder of her senses returned at the same time. Information burst from all corners of her mind.

Mel gasped. Her eyes flew open.

She was lying on her side, curled up in the fetal position. Covering her was a satin-covered duvet, filled with feathers. The silky texture slid over her slight curves like the richest caramel. She felt the material against her bare skin-

A thought stopped her.

She was _naked_. Completely and utterly bare as the day she was born.

Her cheeks flushed.

Why was she...?

Mel breathed in. That cologne... It was familiar and unique-

The woman froze.

_Sherlock. _

Mel was sleeping in Sherlock's room, lying in his bed, enveloped in his mountain of pillows and blankets- buck assed _naked._

All she could think about were the many ways she was going to murder the consulting detective.

_There's always a gun. Not the most clean, but one of the simplest. What if the shot's too loud? A silencer. No... not enough class... Poison? Poison is an easy cleanup and can be overlooking in toxicology reports. Not distinctive enough. Hydrochloric acid? Would melt the flesh and bone- _

_But if you killed him, you'd miss his violin playing. And what would you do to practice-?_

_The audition for the Royal Ballet-_

Mel's heartbeat skyrocketed.

_What day is it? What time is it?_

_Have I missed it?_

She attempted to jump out of the bed. The duvet was tangled around her legs. She tried to hastily free her limbs, grunting in frustration. With a strangled cry, she rolled off the bed, landing on the wood floor heavily. The loud noise echoed through the dark room.

Groaning, Mel tried to move, but her muscles protested angrily.

Suddenly, someone burst through the door. Light from the living room flooded in, breaking up the shadows.

The man who stood there was tall. His brunette curls were wild, as if he'd just been sleeping or rifling his fingers through it.

Mel's eyes went wide. "Sherlock-!"

The only thing she could see clearly were his eyes. His cool grey gaze scoured her naked flesh, pinning her in place with an unfathomable stare.

Sherlock took one stride into the room. Mel exhaled shakily, pulling herself back onto the bed. The blankets slipped down to her hips. His gaze flickered momentarily to her exposed breasts.

The woman's jaw dropped at his unrepentant stare. Blushing furiously, she reached behind her to grab two pillows; one to cover herself and the other to throw at his head.

"Sherlock, what the _hell_! _Get out_!"

"Why?"

"Why the hell am I naked?"

The man shrugged. "You had a fever."

Mel swore under her breath. "Just get out-" She threw the second pillow.

He caught the projectile nonchalantly. "This is my room, Miss McAllister."

"That doesn't justify you... _gawking _at me!" She cried in outrage.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side, as if he were confused by her words.

He began to walk forward. "If you were so _outraged_, as you say, you would've stormed from the room by now."

Mel inhaled sharply.

Sensing she wasn't about to respond, the detective continued, stalking towards her.

"Yet there you sit, covering yourself. You don't want to be covered, do you? I can see your carotid artery from here. Your pulse is too quick for someone who's embarrassed. So why is your heart beating so fast? Is it because you're afraid?" He paused. Mel stared up at him in helplessness, watching the deductions fall from his lips. "No..." He continued. "Are you anxious? No, not that either, your body language says something much different-"

Mel covered her hands over her ears. Her eyes squeezed shut. "STOP!" The scream burst from her lips. She heard the man's steps falter.

The rich baritone wavered slightly. "...What?"

"J-just stop."

"Why?"

She tightened the sheet around her, ignoring the embers in her blood that were threatening to burst into flames. Sliding off the bed, she walked to the detective, only stopping when she was inches away.

"Sherlock. Don't." Holding the silk bed sheet to her with one hand, she pressed the other hand to his chest softly. "Don't do this."

Her head bowed forward tiredly, leaning against him. He went rigid under her touch.

Her breaths were ragged.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock's large hand took hers. His grasp was cool against her fevered skin. His other hand came up to gentle cup the side of her petite face.

"Melina. Look at me." His order was whispered, the low pitch rumbling through his throat. The pad of his thumb hesitantly grazed her scarlet cheek. The frost in his gaze melted. His eyes grew softer- more kind.

She looked up, feeling the man tilt her chin up so she would meet his gaze. "Sherlock? What-"

The hand holding the woman's face moved to the back of her head. His long fingers stroked the hair at the nape of her neck.

Their eyes locked. A look of tense heat passed between them. Neither let out the breath they were holding.

Mel could feel the detective's heart beat steadily against her palm.

Sherlock's gaze flitted between the woman's emerald stare and her full lips. He leaned down infinitesimally.

Mel's eyes fluttered shut.

The front door slammed. "Sherlock? I brought the take away!"

The sound of John's loud voice shattered their moment.

Sherlock's eyes grew distant once more. A smirk curled the corner of his mouth. "Well that was interesting..."

It felt as though a bucket of ice had been thrown on Mel. The sudden desire flowing through her was eliminated completely.

His lips pursed. Something flickered through his expression before he was able to control it.

The woman schooled her expression immediately. Her guard was back up.

Out of spite, Mel dropped the sheet from around her. The silk fluttered to the ground in a pool. Smirking to hide the nauseous feeling in her stomach, the dancer brushed against him, forcing the detective to take a step back. "As if I would ever want someone like _you._" The lie flowed from her lips much too easily.

His lips pursed. Something flickered in his expression before he was able to control it. "It was an experiment, Miss McAllister. That's all."

"Then I gather we misunderstood each other's motives."

He looked down at her once more before turning to leave. "You are correct."

Not letting the man have the last say, Mel waltzed past Sherlock into the main room.

John was in the kitchen, munching on an eggroll as he placed a container of fried rice on the table. He looked up when he heard footsteps. His mouth dropped.

Completely nude, Mel walked through the room. She gave the man a forced smile. "Hello, John."

The eggroll that was in the doctor's mouth fell out, dropping onto the floor. A dazed look passed over his face.

Rolling her eyes, the woman plucked up John's jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. "Thank you for taking care for me, John," she slipped the coat on. It fell to her mid-thigh.

Shaking himself, the doctor watched as the dancer padded barefoot to the door, finally zipping up the jacket so it was partially open. The swell of her breasts was still in plain view.

"It's f-f-fine, Mel. I just hope you're feeling better now. Sherlock actually helped quite a bit-"

At the mention of the name, the woman raised a hand, cutting off his words. "I enjoy your company, John. Maybe you can swing by my apartment when you're not running after your _boyfriend_."

"He- he's not my-" he paused. "Wait... Did something happen when I was gone?"

She rolled her eyes. The anger in her belly grew. "Oh, he basically is your boyfriend, and you know it. And no, nothing happened." She exhaled. "You keep that man away from me," she growled, staring into the doctor's eyes with all the seriousness her body contained.

Sherlock exited his bedroom. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. His gaze was focused on the ground. It seemed uncommon for him.

Mel looked at the consulting detective once more, willing the lump of tears in her throat to dissipate.

"You're going to look around you one day, Mr. Holmes, and realize you have no one. You will have chased everyone away, just because you're _scared_." She turned, her hand on the doorknob.

His eyes shot up to meet hers. "If we're speaking of people being afraid, Miss McAllister, maybe we should speak of how you cried for your '_papa'."_

John's jaw dropped in indignation. "_Sherlock!_ That's enough!"

Mel's body tensed. She was thankful that she was facing the door. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

"No it's alright. You're seeing the kind of man he is, John." She swallowed. "Mr. Holmes, if you _ever _speak ill of my family again... if you ever come near me again... I swear to God I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

Knowing she wasn't going to receive an answer, Mel left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Back inside, John turned to his flatmate. "I can't believe you said that. Her family was _murdered_, Sherlock! Jesus!"

The detective's hand went to his hair, fisting the curls. "I-I didn't mean-"

"God you're such a _bastard_." John spat, leaving the take away as he stormed away.

Sherlock followed close behind. "You see why I can't have emotions like all of you? It doesn't work, John!"

"Mel is just as clever as you and she manages to have emotion. You've figured it out, haven't you? It's just _you._"

"Melina is a very unique specimen-"

"She's a woman! Not one of your experiments!"

The taller man didn't respond.

The doctor whirled as he reached his bedroom. "You know, she's right. Mel has known you less than a week, and she's already got you all figure out; you're a child, Sherlock. You're a little boy in a man's body and you're too afraid to do anything about your feelings!"

John lashed out, punching Sherlock in the jaw. The detective landed hard as his back met the wood floor. His eyes went wide, staring up at the doctor.

John just shook his head in disappointment. He stepped back into his room and slamming the door. The lock clicked.

The brunette man was still lying on the ground, clutching his jaw.

He swallowed.

He was alone.

* * *

**...Well that escalated quickly... lol jkjk **

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5: The Audition

**Hey guys! Here are my responses to your comments!**

**rgoddesskasey**: Thanks so much!

**Emilynoelofrivendell**: Haha you're always so sweet to my stories. Thank you!

**madd-cow911**: I like your username. It's interesting ;D Thanks for reading!

**harliesue**: Hello! Thanks so much for reviewing! Hahaha I am not a dancer, unfortunately, but my best friend is and she inspired me to make Mel a ballerina. It took a lot of time and research to pull this off ;P Thanks for the kind words!

**Anon 1,2,3**: Merci beaucoup!

**Pricilla**: Well I hope you continue to read and enjoy! :D

**WL Chastain**: Nice catch man! Hahaha this chapter explains and hopefully smoothes all of the rough edges you caught last time. I'm aware of all these things. I write everything with purpose, my friend, or there would be no point to write this at all. It was out of character cause she was shocked and probably felt violated- which is certainly of understandable. Thank you for the input!

**sherlockhomesgeek**: Your review made me incredibly happy. Mel is modeled as a mix between the best aspects of my best friend and I- but in a different body cause I'm like... 5'8 and blonde ;P Deductions that I write are a lot of things I've thought of people in the past. Hahaha does that make me judgemental or clever? I have no idea... I thank you profusely for reading, though. Your kind words have certainly made my day!

.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel.**

* * *

The next two days were stressful for Mel.

Since she realized that she hadn't missed her audition for the Royal Ballet with her incident, the dancer was practicing nonstop. There was no time for eating or sleeping. Just dance.

It took a certain amount of time for a dance to break in a pair of pointe shoes. Because she'd gone out with John the other day and spent the other sleeping, the woman had only one day to practice and then there was the audition and break in her shoes.

She hadn't spoken to Sherlock Holmes. Truthfully, she was ashamed by her behavior. She should've remained objective. She could've been naked for any number of reasons. If she'd had a fever, it made sense to remove all of her clothes. When she cold, the comforter was put over top of her. She hadn't even been thankful for what Sherlock had really done for her. Instead, her feelings clouded her judgment and she'd pranced around their flat naked. She'd insulted Sherlock. Her actions were callous and uncaring.

Mel loathed herself for what she did. She was so much better than what she'd shown.

The next day, Mel didn't see any of the consulting detective or his associate.

_Are you surprised? You were acting completely insane! He's not going to want anything to do with you after this. _

_I wouldn't blame him if he runs in the opposite direction when he sees you next._

Every time she did her pirouettes, Mel would see him sitting in the chair- playing his violin. She'd stumble to a stop, searching for him.

There was never anything there.

The morning of the audition, Mel went through her routine robotically.

She showered quickly, roughly scrubbing her skin. Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough, it would make her feel better. Make the resentment go away.

It didn't help.

Mel threw a pair of spandex shorts under a chiffon high-low style dress. The green shades throughout the tiers brought out the color of her eyes and made her hair look vibrant.

She put her hair up in a stylish bun and did a pretty stage makeup.

All the while, she felt a sickness in her stomach.

It was regret.

Maybe she was the one who was afraid. Maybe she was the one who couldn't accept her feelings.

_Why didn't you just tell him? _

_... It doesn't matter now. If he has any human bones in his body, he'll run at the sight of me. _

The woman's subconscious sighed and shrugged it's shoulders.

When her makeup was done, she didn't bother appraising herself in the mirror.

It'd have to do.

The audition was only two hours away and she still needed to get there and warm up.

Mel slipped her leather jacket over her dress, grabbing her things in a haze. She sped out of the apartment.

She was fiddling with her keys as she ran down the stairs, trying to find the right pocket for them in her bag.

The woman collided with something hard.

Before she could fall down the flight of stairs, strong arms wrapped around her waist.

Mel opened her eyes.

Before her was Sherlock Holmes. She noticed a purpling bruise on his jaw. Even with the discoloration, he still looked as handsome as ever in his black coat and short navy scarf.

Her heart thudded unnaturally.

His arms were around her for a moment too long. He pulled away immediately after he realized what had happened.

"Good morning, Sherlock," she whispered, looking down at her black ballet flats.

"Miss McAllister." His greeting was detached and abrupt.

She didn't need to look at him to know that all emotion would be nonexistent from his features.

After several moments of silence, Mel glanced up.

Sherlock's calculating gaze was on her, watching her every move.

Mel cleared her throat. "I... I just wanted to apologize profusely for the other day. I was rude to you for absolutely no reason-"

"Well, I did shoot the wall in my flat, most likely triggering you entire attack," he interrupted with a humorless smirk. "And I did undress you..."

"I don't know why you were shooting your wall, but I gather you didn't mean to send me into a fit. And I was naked because you were taking care of me," she looked down once more. "I didn't even thank you properly. How barbaric is that?"

The silence settled once more.

"Thank you for you help. I promise that I won't bother you again, Sherlock Holmes." The woman moved around him to descend the stairs.

"Are you going to the audition?" His voice abruptly called, making the redhead pause.

Mel smiled softly, turning back. "Yes."

"May I share a taxi with you?"

She was surprised by his request but nodded nonetheless. "Of course."

A hint of a smile curled his lips. "Thank you."

He reached in front of her, offering his arm gallantly.

Mel chuckled half-heartedly and took it, linking a delicate hand in the crook of his elbow. The neighbors walked out of the building in a companionable silence.

"You look quite nice, Miss McAllister," Sherlock hummed as they walked down to the main street.

"That is very kind of you, Sherlock." She swallowed. "Honestly, I wish I could feel the same way on the inside."

Mel heard the man sigh.

"So do I."

The words were so quiet, the woman didn't know if she'd imagined them.

"Would you like to call a truce?" She asked, smiling up at the handsome detective.

He glanced down at her skeptically. "What sort of truce?"

"Friends?"

Sherlock snorted. "I don't really _do_ the friends thing."

"You have John," she pointed out with a small laugh.

The man rolled his eyes skyward. "He's my _assistant_."

Mel paused as she thought. "Would you like to be acquaintances?" She finally tried.

Sherlock flagged down a cab. He took her hand in his, running to catch the taxi as several people flocked to it.

He opened the door for her and they slid onto the seat.

"The Royal Opera House please."

The cabbie nodded and pulled the car onto the street.

"Acquaintances would be adequate," he finally stated.

She nodded with the finality of it. "Good."

"Good?"

Mel rolled her eyes. "It's a validation of understanding, Mr. Holmes."

"I am aware, Miss McAllister."

They were silent for several minutes.

Mel watched the buildings fly past. She smiled softly. The clouds were dark above the city, but no rain had fallen yet.

"I thought you should know that John and I caught the killer of the Piccadilly Circus murder."

"That's wonderful," she hummed. She was glad that Kailey would have closure.

"He was a twenty-seven year old male. He lived on a acreage. He was an avid hunter... just as you profiled."

The woman shrugged. "I didn't do much. It was you and John that did the real work."

"Miss McAllister."

She swiveled to face him. "Yes?"

His brow was furrowed. "Do not sell your powers of deduction short."

"I have an eidetic and photographic memory, Mr. Holmes. When you observe every single thing in the world without end, it starts to look the same. After a while, It doesn't matter what you see cause you know there's nothing you can do about it."

Their gazes locked.

"I know exactly what you mean," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

Mel broke the eye contact.

The cab slowed, pulling up to the curb. Sherlock passed the cabbie several bills before the woman could protest. They both got out, stepping onto the sidewalk.

"My way of apologizing for things," he explained.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Nothing like saying 'sorry' by paying for a cab ride."

He chuckled. "Indeed."

She smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I gather that I will have to find an imaginative way to apologize now."

Sherlock paused as he thought. "Dance like you did the night I played my violin for you. That can be my apology."

The woman looked up at the detective. His eyes were soft, like they were the other day.

"Alright," she whispered, accepting the terms. "It is a closed audition, though. You won't actually be able to see your apology."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "I'll know, though. And that will be enough." Then, he reached for something in the inside pocket of his wool coat.

It was a small velvet jewelry box.

"What is-"

He placed the box in her small hand, closing her fingers around it. She looked up at him in confusion.

Suddenly, his arms were around her in a tight embrace. He pressed his lips lightly to her cheek.

"Open it inside," he whispered. "Good luck with your audition."

He pulled away with a flourish of his coat and he crossed the street. Then he disappeared.

Mel shook her head. _Does he have to be so mysterious?_

The black velvet box felt hot in her grasp as she entered the building.

There were arrows pointing to the hall where the dancers were practicing. At least fifty girl were fixing their pointe shoes, practicing, or just laying down listening to music. Bags were strewn all around. Mel had to step over several women who were sleeping on the ground.

Mel found a small empty space in the far corner of the room. She dropped her bag to the waxed floor and stripped out of her leather jacket.

She looked at the small box Sherlock had given her. The woman opened the lid carefully.

Nestled in the black velvet was a pair of gorgeous white pearl earrings.

Mel gasped, a hand covering her mouth in shock.

They were _beautiful_.

_How did he... _

The man was amazing.

The woman couldn't hide the grin that stretched her lips. Her hands shook slightly as she fastened the pearls in her lobes.

She quickly out her pointe shoes and went into the hall.

There was a table at the end of the corridor with a signup sheet. Mel printed her name and left her phone number for call-backs. Her audition would be in an hour.

The redhead walked through the halls, trying to find a secluded place to stretch and practice. Other dancers looked her up and down with disdain. Mel never understood why ballerina's were unfriendly to one another.

The woman finally found a wide hall that wasn't occupied. She stretched quickly but thoroughly. Sitting, she slipped on her Pointe shoes.

The day before, she'd shellacked the inside lining of the shoes and sewn on thicker elastic. The box of the toe had softened enough that the aggravating clicking noise was gone.

The woman practiced several _arabesques_, _pirouettes_ and _fouettés_.

The sound of a man's voice came from the speakers above. "_Can Melina McAllister please make her way to the stage? Thank you._"

_Has it already been an hour?_

Butterflies fluttered through her stomach as she followed the complicated maze of halls back to the main room. A man with a clipboard looked up at her.

"McAllister?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, follow me. You're next."

Mel's hands were damp as she followed the man. She wiped them on her thighs as the man took her offstage, to the left and behind the curtain.

She watched the girl that was on the stage. Her _fouettés _were offset and her feet were turned in. When the music stopped, the girl stumbled, falling into a random pose.

There was a long pause. Then a loud voice spoke into the microphone. "Um... we'll let you know. Thank you."

The girl grinned and jogged offstage.

The bored voice came once more. "Next."

The man with the clipboard wished her luck. "You're gonna need it," he muttered under his breath.

The quantity of butterflies in Mel's stomach doubled. She leaped up the stairs and lightly skipped onto the stage.

Gold lights and red velvet seats could be seen all around. The opera house was monstrous.

The butterflies were attacking her intestines.

Facing the stage was a long table, crowded with a panel of judges. They regarded her with looks of interest. Smiling softly, Mel took a microphone that was offered to her.

A man with a thick white beard sat up in his chair and adjusted his glasses. "Hello there." He had a thick Russian accent.

"Good morning," she replied.

"Why have you come to audition for us today?"

She smiled. "To dance, sir."

The panel chuckled.

"Good, good. How long have you been dancing?"

"Twenty years, sir."

The man nodded. "Alright. We are only looking for only one new dancer for the ballet. Out of the fifty-three ladies here today, why do you think you deserve the spot?"

She paused. "I hope that you will see something in my dancing that's worth investing in."

The judges muttered among themselves once more.

"Alright. We will supply the music and you will be asked to improvise a piece for us. You may begin whenever you're ready."

Mel nodded. "Thank you."

She passed the microphone off and jogged to the back of the stage.

She took a single calming breath.

Then the music started.

It flowed through her like water. She let the music take her, not fighting against the current.

She floated on the stage, barely making a sound. The material of the dress moved with her, accentuating her skill.

She thought of Sherlock.

About the apology.

The woman flew through the air, higher than ever before. Her passion for dance was plain on her face.

She transitioned into her _fouettés en pointe. _Her axis was perfectly straight as she spun over and over, using the judges to spot her turns. She managed seventeen before the music began to fade.

Mel stopped her turns, reaching out to the audience. Her chest rose and fell with the force of her breaths.

The panel of judges were completely silent.

Unexpectedly, each person slowly stood to their feet, clapping.

They were giving her a standing ovation.

Mel stumbled back. She was stunned. The dancer curtseyed deeply. The feeling that rushed through her blood was worth all of the time and effort she'd put into the art form.

That single moment, was worth everything.

She looked out at the empty chairs in the audience, past the lights.

This was her moment and nothing could compare to it.

Once the judges were seated, the man with the beard leaned forward to speak into his microphone. "W-wow that was... Thank you so much for sharing that. You were like a breath of fresh air."

"Thank you, sir."

She was passed the microphone once more. "Thank you," she repeated.

He smiled. "Who is your teacher?"

"Um... my mother was a principal dancer with the Austrian Ballet. When she passed away, my Grandparents put me into dance so I could feel like I was close to her. My teacher was Amelia Schultz."

The judges looked on at her with awe in their eyes. "That's a beautiful story. I know Amy quite well," another man said, leaning into his microphone.

Mel smiled and nodded.

"Well I would bet you anything that your mother is incredibly proud of you," the first man said.

Mel's heart was warm with emotion. "Thank you so much, sir. That means more to me than you could possibly imagine."

"Expect a call by the end of next week."

The dancer bowed once more before jogging offstage. She was elated by the feelings running through her. Her heart was beating wildly.

She couldn't help but grin.

The next dancer passed her to go on stage, sending her a glare.

"Good luck out there," Mel hummed kindly.

The girl rolled her eyes and left.

The redhead shrugged her shoulders. She'd tried.

Mel exited through the large doors leading to the hall and turned to make her way back to the practice room to retrieve her things.

She frowned as she looked both ways down the corridor.

_Why is it empty?-_

She jumped as she heard a slow clap come from behind her. Each individual clap sent an uncomfortable jolt through her body.

She wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow.

A middle aged man approached her. He spun an umbrella in his left hand.

_Tailored designer suit- has money and enjoys flaunting it. It wasn't raining before, so why does he have an umbrella? He infers that it will rain. Or, it started raining in the past hour or so, meaning he just left. Implying... he came here recently, in the past several minutes. How did her get into the opera house? Either he broke in- which would be implausible because his manicure is fully intact- or he paid someone to get in. Has a lot of money. Receding hairline suggests he works a desk job, or in the government. He gets stressed, so he runs his hands through his hair. It falls out, leading to the receding hairline._

"You are undoubtedly the most beautiful dancer I've seen in my life."

Mel smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"-Which is saying quite a lot since I enjoy going to the Ballet all over the globe..." His thin lips pulled into a smirk. "You can stop with the deductions, Miss McAllister. I can almost _smell_ them on you."

_He knows my name-_

"I think I should go."

He chuckled. "No you don't. You want to find out who I am. I've peaking your interest. You need to figure out how I know your name. I know quite a lot about you."

Mel froze. "You have me at a disadvantage. I don't know your name."

She heard his steps as he came up to her. She could smell his aftershave. "All you need to know, is that I am what Sherlock Holmes considers me to be his archenemy." Mel spun around. He was walking away. "Congratulations on the audition, Miss McAllister. Do give my love to Sherlock." He called. "I'll see be seeing you again shortly."

Mel watched as he disappeared around the corner, spinning his umbrella.

She got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

_Archenemy?_

The woman took off her pointe shoes and raced back to the main room. She grabbed her things and ran from the room.

She burst out of the main doors.

It was raining.

Mel slipped on her black flats and jacket. She took out her phone immediately. She scrolled down her list of contacts until she found his name. She called him, placing the phone to her ear.

"Holmes." His deep voice immediately calmed her. "Hello...?"

"Sherlock, it's me," she breathed.

"Ah Miss McAllister how was the-"

"I was just visited by your _archenemy_," she interrupted. She folded her arms over her chest.

She heard the man exhale loudly. "Would you like me to come get you?"

She paused, considering his offer. "Yes please."

"Give me two minutes. I'm just around the corner."

Then he hung up.

Mel waited anxiously. The joy she felt after dancing was gone. Only the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach remained.

As soon as she saw his swirling coat, the dancer was running through the rain. Her feet pounded the pavement. Her heart thudded wildly. She jumped up and into the consulting detective's arms.

He wound his strong arms around the woman's petite waist. He lifted her from the ground.

The rain fell heavily all around them.

Sherlock slowly lowered the woman again.

"Are you alright?" He asked, pulling away from her so he could take her in. She was shivering.

Whether from the cold rain or from her encounter, he wasn't sure. His warm fingers brushed a tendril of her wet hair behind her ear.

She was wearing his earrings.

Mel nodded, blinking the rain from her eyes as she looked up at him. Water soaked the man's hair, plastering his dark curls to his head.

"I-I'm alright."

"You're shaking, Melina."

She shivered, pulling her jacket around her tighter. It didn't help. The faux leather was ruined.

Sherlock stripped off his coat, leaving him in only a white button down shirt and his tailored black suit. He used his jacket as an umbrella to cover the two of them. He pulled the woman close to his side, sharing his warmth. He tried to flag down a taxi, but none would stop.

"They don't want us to get the interior of their cabs wet," he deduced, glancing down at her.

The woman melted into his side, letting his body heat rush through her.

Suddenly, a black car pulled up to the curb directly in front of them. The window rolled down.

It was the same man as before.

"Want a ride, Sherlock?" His voice was filled with humor as he looked between the two of them. He pointedly stared at Mel's waist, where the detective hade his arm laced.

"S-Sherlock t-that's-"

The detective interrupted the woman, speaking directly to the man in the black car. "I'd rather not."

Sherlock started walking away, pulling the redhead with him.

The car started to reverse, following them.

"She's very beautiful. I approve," the man continued, sticking his head out the window at the car pursued them.

"You leave her alone, Mycroft," Sherlock spat, increasing his pace. Mel felt his arm tighten around her.

"I'm just looking after you."

The woman looked up at Sherlock in confusion.

The car was running out of empty space for the curb. Mycroft seemed to realize this. "Stop the-" He jolted forward as the car backed straight into a parked truck. The alarm wailed through the street. The man straightened himself. "I just wanted to wish you well, Sherlock!"

They turned the corner, leaving the man behind them.

"Sherlock? Who the hell is that?"

He exhaled tiredly. "That man is Mycroft Holmes."

Mel was silent for a moment. "You mean... wait... that was you _brother_?"

He looked down at her, gauging her reaction."Yes."

She took the information in with a slow nod. "I suppose family gatherings must be awkward for you guys."

Sherlock snorted. "You know, I told John that you were a 'unique specimen'."

Mel laughed. "What'd he say?"

"That you weren't one of my experiments."

The woman laughed but stopped when she thought back to their almost-kiss. "Well I am, aren't I?"

He inhaled sharply. "No, Melina, you're not."

Her brow creased in confusion. "Wait... I don't-"

Sherlock suddenly stopped walking. Mel stumbled slightly, but the arm around her waist righted her quickly.

The consulting detective lowered his wool coat from above them, letting the rain fall down on them. He dropped the coat, allowing it fall to the wet pavement. The arm around the dancer turned her to face him.

Mel thought about how tall the man was compared to her. He had to be at least seven inches-

Without warning, his other hand went to the woman's damp hair. He pulled her up to him, making her go up on the tips of her toes. His lips were only inches away from hers.

His cool grey eyes searched hers. "You are so much more than an experiment."

Then Sherlock swooped down, closing the distance between them, to fit his lips over hers.

* * *

**I want to thank you guys for continuing to read this story! :D Merci beaucoup tout le monde! **


	6. Chapter 6: Bored

**Hey guys! I wrote a bit of a lemon... hope that's alright with everyone. Anyone too young to read it... avert your eyes? xD lol**

**For all those who reviewed, it's comment time!**

**harliesue**: Hahaha I'm glad you enjoyed my response then ;) Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the kiss. Hopefully you'll like the continuation in this chapter as well! I will match your two thumbs up and play you a nice tune on that violin. Thanks again for reviewing!

**sherlockhomesgeek**: I'm ecstatic that you are so invested in my story! I will take those 'baby squeals' and incredible words of yours to heart as I write this chapter! xD

**madd-cow911**: Thanks so much!

**hannahhobnob**: I was looking through the Sherlock/OC fanfics and saw there weren't that many stories that had both elements in one character. Thanks for reading and reviewing :)

**TooLazyToLogIn**: lol... I feel the same way about logging into this website. Thanks for taking the time to review!

**moi**: Thanks :D

**truelondoner123**: Your comment made me warm and fuzzy inside! hahaha sorry for stealing your line ;D Thanks for swinging by!

.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel.**

* * *

_Sherlock suddenly stopped walking. Mel stumbled slightly, but the arm around her waist righted her quickly._

_The consulting detective lowered his wool coat from above them, letting the rain fall down on them. He dropped the coat, allowing it fall to the wet pavement. The arm around the dancer turned her to face him._

_Mel thought about how tall the man was compared to her. He had to be at least seven inches-_

_Without warning, his other hand went to the woman's damp hair. He pulled her up to him, making her go up on the tips of her toes. His lips were only inches away from hers._

_His cool grey eyes searched hers. "You are so much more than an experiment."_

_Then Sherlock swooped down, closing the distance between them, to fit his lips over hers._

Mel gasped at the sudden feeling of his lips on hers.

All form of thought flew from her mind.

The rain showered down on them. It was cold. Wet. The woman closed her eyes. Droplets of water fell all around.

It was _perfect._

She pushed away, hands flat against his chest. Her chest rose and fell heavily with her breaths. She covered her mouth in shock.

He let her go, hands dropping to his sides. A subtle smirk quirked his pale lips. "That was a better reaction than the last time."

She walked back to him and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level. She breathed against his lips.

"Sherlock... just shut up."

Mel softly kissed his mouth, locking their lips together.

They didn't move for several moments; just enjoying the feel of one another. The detective's hand came to cup the back of her head, just holding her close to him. Their faces were slick with rain. Mel's fingers laced through his damp curls, pulling him impossibly closer to her. Her back curved. Their chests were pressed flush against one another. Then Sherlock grasped her chin and tilted her head; effectively changing the angle. This amplified the heat of the kiss.

They moved in perfect synchronization. The ebb and flow of their movement was completely balanced; knowing what they both needed. Mel bit his bottom lip gently, tugging at the flesh. A growl rumbled through his chest. He gripped the length of her hair and tugged- angling the dancer's head to claim her petal-soft lips. Sherlock's other hand was splayed across the woman's lower back, trailing his fingers down the length of her spine.

They pulled away, both needing air. They stared imploringly into each other's eyes. Emerald met cool grey in a silent battle of wits.

Mel blinked. Rainwater fell from her lashes.

She watched Sherlock smirk, brushing the liquid from her face. His fingers traced random patterns on her skin.

"We should get back to Baker Street," Sherlock hummed, leaning down to press a lengthy kiss against her forehead. She nodded, slowly extricating herself from his embrace.

The consulting detective leaned down to pick up his jacket; which was clearly soaked through.

Sherlock wouldn't let the woman out of his arms the entire walk back to the flat. He had one arm draped possessively around her waist as his other hand was occupied by his dismal-looking wool coat.

Mel walked into 221B Baker Street with a sense of disappointment. She sighed as they climbed the stairs.

_There's a 97.3% chance that he'll pretend this never happened. _

The woman locked her subconscious into the recesses of her mind.

As they approached his flat, Sherlock slipped his arm out from around her with a reluctant exhale.

_Told you..._

"I must change. I cannot afford to become ill."

"Y-yeah of course. I'll see you later." She smiled softly before moving to scale the stairs to her own apartment. His hand shot out, catching her wrist.

"I would like a kiss before you leave, please."

Mel gazed up at the man in surprise. She walked back to him in a daze. She stood up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his tenderly.

It was a short kiss, but it was filled with all the passion of their previous kiss.

She pulled away, this time the detective let her go.

"Thank you, Melina," he breathed. He quickly opened the door to his apartment and entered, leaving the woman standing there.

"No problem."

...

The following month was extremely busy for Mel.

The Royal Ballet had called and later that week, inviting her to attend her to attend Call-backs. She'd agreed easily. She was put through rigorous choreography with twenty or so other girls. The numbers slowly depleted as the days and practices went along.

It was the final session of Call-backs and there were only three girls left. Mel, who was soaring through the sessions, an angry blonde woman who'd been on Broadway for several years, and an older Russian brunette who spoke little English. All three were incredibly gifted.

Mel was practicing her _tendus_ at the ballet barre. On her feet were another pair of pointe shoes- she'd worn out the last pair soon after the audition. Her slim legs were encased in pale pink tights and she wore a black halter-style leotard over top. Her hair was up in a slick bun at the crown of her head. It had taken a ridiculous amount of hairspray to tame it. Most days, the humidity in London was obnoxiously high, causing Mel's wavy locks to be unbearable.

Ms. Nakamori, the choreographer, clapped her hands loudly, breaking Mel out of her reverie.

"Alright ladies! Come sit down over here. I have a treat for your last day."

On the first day of call-backs, Mel had observed the woman. She was between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. She'd stopped dancing because of a knee injury. Most likely from a car accident, because the woman was skittish around vehicles and drove a motorcycle to the Opera House. Ms. Nakamori wore diamond earrings; small enough to be real, and large enough to be from a significant other. Large diamonds aren't something you buy for yourself, but for a loved one- possibly from a long-term boyfriend. There was no ring on her left hand, so he obviously wasn't the woman's fiancée. Her accent was a mixture of Korean and Australian. The accent was unique to the Melbourne region.

Mel jogged over and sat with the two other girls.

"Now, I want to introduce you ladies to your partners for today. Liam, Edmund, and Jim."

She waved her hand and three men walked through the door. They were dressed in only black leggings, ballet slippers, and thin tank tops.

Mel's mind shot to each of them in turn, rapidly firing off deductions.

_Liam. Twenty-five to twenty-seven. Dark shoulder-length hair. Needs to be cut. Either he doesn't have the money, or he thinks it's stylish. He looks like the most distinguished and comfortable of the three. Features suggest he's Irish. _He walked with a certain swagger and winked playfully at the three woman. _He's a player. Doesn't commit to relationships. _

_Edmund. At least a foot taller than Liam and between the ages of twenty and twenty-four. Surprisingly young to be in the Royal Ballet meaning he was either a child prodigy or he had someone in the Company help him to get the position. Bleach blonde hair and dark brows contradicted one another. _He stumbled slightly on his way through the dance studio, attempting to avoid the lights above. _Went out last night and got completely plastered. He's barely functioning with his hangover. _

_Jim was the most out of place of the three. He was the shortest, slimmest, and least muscular. Tinted eyebrows and lashes: he takes care of his appearance. Almost too much._ The man's bright blue eyes looked at the backside of the man in front of him. _Ah. He's gay. His feet are slightly turned in as he walks... _

_He isn't a dancer..._

Jim's eyes shot to Mel. He sent her a no-so-subtle wink and grinned cheekily.

She frowned.

_How did he get in here if he isn't a dancer?_

Ms. Nakamori clapped her hands again. "Alright! Today we're going to be working on a _Pas de Deux_. Grab a guy and we'll get started."

Mel shot up and stood in front of Liam. She ignored the looks the other dancers gave her. She heard the man behind her laugh quietly. She turned to face him, raising a brow.

"Someone's eager," he chuckled.

_Definitely Irish._

"Not really. Edmund's hung-over and Jim isn't even a dancer."

The man looked at her strangely. "Oh...kay then..."

The day was long and tedious. Mel was in her point shoes for the entire eight hours. Her feet were aching terribly. She was able to push through it. Liam was certainly the most skilled of the three men. Edmund was stumbling around the floor clumsily and Jim... Mel had no idea what the hell that was about. Liam and Mel were the first couple to complete the choreography and Ms. Nakamori sent them home first.

The redhead thanked Liam. He shrugged and left quickly. It was apparent that he found her unsettling.

Mel sighed and went to grab her things. She took off her pointe shoes and slipped on a pair of grey sweatpants over her tights. She turned on her phone as she walked from the studio.

**_5 NEW MESSAGES_**

She frowned.

**8:53 AM**

**Sherlock is driving me INSANE. Come home soon? **

**JW**

**...**

**9:22 AM**

**Come to Baker Street immediately**

**SH**

**...**

**1:12 PM**

**You are needed**

**SH**

**...**

**2:43 PM**

**PLEASE COME**

**SH**

**...**

Melina rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile. They'd shared several stolen kisses since the day of the audition, but they hadn't solidified any sort of status between them. Despite this, the detective came over every night to play his violin for her. She would dance for him. Afterwards, they'd sit and chat, asking questions back and forth.

The past week was different. Sherlock was been bored.

Torturously bored.

He'd taken to putting severed heads in his fridge so he could test the coagulation of saliva after death. Eyeballs were in the microwave. Thumbs and various experiments were all over the table.

In other words, Sherlock Holmes didn't have a case.

Mel smiled as she thought of the handsome detective.

She looked back to her phone, slipping on her black flats as she exited the front doors of the Opera House.

**...**

**5:45 PM **

**BOOM.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER**

**...**

She shook her head and sighed. She descended the stairs, putting her phone back into her bag.

_Damn prank texts. _

She walked back to Baker Street. Honestly, there was no way she could continue to pay for cab rides that were only ten minutes long.

Mel walked into the building and climbed the stairs. She entered the boy's flat with a sigh, dropping her bag to the floor.

"Boy's? I'm back-"

Before she could finish, a pale blur sped from the kitchen. It tackled her, sending Mel flying onto the sofa. The redhead cried out, bouncing unharmed onto the cushions.

Sherlock Holmes leaped from where he stood on the coffee table and jumped onto the woman. He supported himself on his forearms, making sure he didn't press too much of his weight on the petite woman. Unexpectedly, his lips crashed down on hers. He kissed her violently, full teeth and tongue. Mel gasped with unrestrained desire. He'd never kissed her like this before. The detective took advantage of her parted lips and slipped his tongue in deftly. One of his hands shackled both of hers, pulling them above her head. Mel's legs opened naturally, allowing the man to rest closer against her. His other hand cupped her backside, pressing her hips firmly against his.

Mel broke the kiss, gasping for air. Sherlock made a small disappointed noise in the back of his throat. He changed tactic, his lips moving to leave a trail of fire down the woman's neck. He attacked her pulse point, nibbling at the tender flesh. He bucked his hips into the woman, overcome with passion.

Mel moaned, feeling his prominent erection against her. "S-Sherlock... stop."

He pulled away slightly, looking down at her in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?" He breathed.

The woman's laugh was breathy. "God no." She carefully pulled her wrists from his tight grip. Reaching up, she brushed his dark curls from his forehead. "You're _too _good at that."

He smirked. He leaned down once more, pressing a softer kiss to her lips. "You should've come sooner. I texted."

Mel chuckled, kissing him back. "I know. I couldn't get out any earlier."

"Mel, did you say you were... back-?" John's voice came around the corner and abruptly cut off. "Oh dear Lord..."

Sherlock groaned irritably and sat up, folding his arms over his chest and crossing his legs to hide his erection. The woman sat beside him, blushing vividly.

"Since when?" John demanded, hands on his hips.

Mel couldn't answer. They weren't technically a couple-

"A month," Sherlock drawled, obviously bored by the question. "We've been together a month."

The woman looked at him in surprise but didn't respond.

_That's news to me..._

The doctor nodded. "Ah... right. Good. Great. Um... I'm gonna go grab some take away. Do you two want anything?" He gestured awkwardly to the door.

"Whatever you get will be fine," Sherlock grumbled petulantly. Mel nodded.

John left only minutes later.

The dancer looked at Sherlock once more. His cool grey eyes were unfocused.

"So... were you planning to tell me that we're actually together?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You would've figured it out eventually."

Sighing, Mel got up from the couch. His hand shot up, snatching her wrist.

She looked down at him, quirking a brow. "I haven't had a full night's rest in a month. I'm going to sleep."

The man paused, searching her face. "You're upset with me."

The woman took a calming breath. "I'm just disappointed you didn't tell me yourself. With John not hearing it at the same time."

Sherlock stood and cupped her face. "I'm not good at relationships, Melina."

"I gathered that."

He smirked. "You'll have to tell me what to do. This is something I don't understand. The emotional side..."

Mel grasped the lapels of his blazer and leaned forward to press her lips lightly against his. "I've never dated before either."

Sherlock looked down, shocked.

The woman giggled. "I've had a busy life Mr. Holmes. I haven't had time for that sort of thing."

He nodded. "Just know that when I have a case, I won't be able to be devoted to you. I won't be able to take you on dates."

"I'm not asking you to. I'll be busy with dance if I get into the Royal Ballet. I'll be practicing everyday and I'll have shows to attend."

He kissed her deeply. She pulled away, reaching the door before he could stop her again.

"See you tomorrow, Sherlock."

"Tomorrow."

...

Mel was woken by the sound of her phone vibrating. Reaching hazily, she cracked her eyes open.

**_1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE_**

**11:20 PM**

**I need you**

**SH**

**...**

Mel groaned, throwing her duvet over her head. Her things from America had arrived several weeks earlier, so her blankets were back to their usual violet-hued cotton.

Her phone vibrated again. Growling, the woman snatched it up.

**...**

**11:21 PM**

**It is of dire importance. **

**SH**

**...**

The redhead exhaled, getting out of the warm confines of her bed.

_So much for 'tomorrow'._

She went to the bathroom to quickly wash her face and brush her teeth. She took her hair out of its French braid and brushed it swiftly, letting the waves flowed down her back. Deciding to leave her hair down, she grabbed a comfy grey knitted sweater and slipped it over her pyjamas. She only wore a pair of plaid sleep shorts that barely covered her backside and a camisole.

She padded barefoot down to the boy's apartment.

"Sherlock?"

Mel entered the flat. She noticed him standing in front of the windows, looking solemnly out at the street.

"Look at it, Melina. Quiet... Calm... Peaceful," His deep, accented voice drawled. He sighed deeply. "Isn't it _hateful_?"

The dancer smiled softly, walking forward so she could wrap her arms around him.

"I was sleeping, Sherlock," she mumbled into the back of his silk housecoat.

"You rid my boredom," he muttered, turning to face her. He pressed his lips to her head. "Sorry."

Mel yawned. "I can't wait until you get a case. You're incorrigible."

Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen. "Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder; that'd cheer you up."

He smirked down at the redhead. Their gazes locked.

"Can't come too soon."

The landlady pause before she could exit. "Hey! What the bloody hell have you done to my wall?" She cried out, gazing at a yellow spray painted happy face. It had bullet holes in its features. "I'm putting this on your rent young man!" She called as she descended the stairs, stomping angrily.

The couple watched the old woman with varied looks of humor. Sherlock sighed.

Suddenly the windows caved in. Sherlock dove for the ground, bringing Mel down with him. His body protected her as glass rained down on them. The side of her head hit the floor hard. Jagged pieces of wood and debris flew everywhere.

Mel's ears were ringing. Everything moved in slow motion.

_What... what just happened?_

Clouds of billowing smoke made her eyes water. She coughed, blearily looking around at the aftermath. Her vision swam. Sherlock was there. His hands were on either side of her face. He seemed to be shouting. No words came from his mouth. The volume of the ringing increased.

Mel tried to sit up.

She felt something wet trickle down her temple. She brought a shaking hand to her head. It came away red.

The ringing faded minutely. All she could hear was car alarms.

And screaming.

The world was spinning wildly.

Then everything went black.

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	7. Chapter 7: Cheeky Decisions

**Bonjour mes amis! Here are my answers to your reviews: **

**sherlockhomesgeek**: Haha I guess you'll have to wait and see. Thanks so much! I wasn't sure if the lemon would go over that well, but I believe it was a success! xD Thanks again for reviewing!

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**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

"I'm not letting anyone near her! What do you not understand? Are my lips not moving enough for your puny brain to comprehend?!"

"Sir, I'm more than certified-"

"I don't care _how_ many certifications you have. Get away from her-"

A loud _smack_ echoed through the air.

"Get away, you bumbling buffoon!"

Then there was a different voice. "Dear brother, let the paramedics do their job. You're being a nuisance."

There were footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Sherlock? Mel?"

_Twang_. "John."

"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?"

"Me? What? Oh. Yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently."

There was a pause.

"Jesus! What's happened to Mel?!"

_Twang_. "I'm deducing it's only a concussion."

More footsteps, this time coming closer. "-You let her fall asleep? Bloody hell, Sherlock!"

"She was tired."

"She could've slipped into a coma! Has anyone looked at her?"

_Twang_. "Those morons have absolutely no idea what they're doing. It was best to wait for you."

"They're _medical professionals_, Sherlock."

Another long pause. "You're a better Doctor. Less... annoying."

Then there were hands. Pressing against her head. The fingers were cool and steady. It felt nice on her fevered skin.

Mel moaned.

"Mel? Mel, can you hear me? It's John."

"G'morning John..." She whispered, eyes fluttering open. "Sherlock?" She turned, wincing at the throbbing in her skull.

Sherlock was sitting in his grey leather chair. He put down his violin at the sight of her awakening. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

John let out an frustrated noise. "She was knocked _unconscious. _You should've woken her every hour-"

Mel smiled softly. "I slept well. Thank you for not waking me up this time."

The detective shot a glare at the army doctor that said something like: See?-I-knew-what-she-wanted-before-she-knew-she-ne eded-it-aren't-I-fantastic?

John sighed exasperatedly. "I'm just going to get my medical bag and we're going to do some tests, alright?"

Mel smiled up at him, not able to nod. John disappeared into his bedroom to get his things. The redhead looked over.

She frowned. "Mycroft?"

The middle aged man was seated in the chair opposite of Sherlock. He smiled stiffly. "It's lovely to see you again, my dear. How do you feel?"

"Like I was blown up," she deadpanned.

Sherlock snorted unabashedly.

"I apologize if I frightened you the day of your audition. I do care so much for my brother's safety."

"Well, the next time you want to chat, text me and we can talk over lunch or something. Don't stalk and corner me. It's creepy."

Mycroft gave her a sour look.

John came back moments later and opened his large leather bag. He pulled out a small flashlight.

"I'm going to shine this light in your eyes. You need to follow it the best you can without moving your head, alright?"

Mel nodded and the room spun.

Once the test was done, the army doctor made her stand up, close her eyes and stay still. Even though she felt like vomiting, Mel swallowed and did what he asked.

John sat her down on the couch once more. He sat across from her on the coffee table. "Alright, what do you remember about the explosion?"

Mel closed her eyes. "I remember Sherlock covering me with his body so I wouldn't get hurt... There was glass everywhere. I couldn't hear anything. I think my head might've hit the ground... There was blood on my hand. There was screaming-" The woman shuddered. "Then I woke up here."

John nodded. He got out a small flesh colored plaster bandage and an alcohol swab from his bag. "I think you were very lucky. You have only a minor concussion," he stated. "This is going to sting..." he began disinfecting the area methodically. Mel winced as fire spread through her open wound. "And you won't be needing stitches. Head wounds just bleed profusely-"

"I _can't_," Sherlock said to Mycroft, picking up his violin. He started strumming the strings.

"Can't."

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

Mel snorted but managed to turn it into a cough.

_BULLSHIT._

Sherlock sent her a glance of warning.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

_Twang_. "How's the_ diet_?"

Mycroft sneered. "_Fine._"

John stuck the plaster to the wound just above the woman's brow. "There you go. You were very lucky, Mel."

She smiled at the doctor as he placed his things bag in his medical bag. "Did you spend the night with Sarah?" She asked suddenly, noticing him rub his neck.

He flushed. "Well- um- yes. Yes I did."

"Ah. Good. You're so adorable together," Mel informed with a grin. The doctor looked delectably uncomfortable.

He gave her a funny look. "You haven't even met her yet."

"Well..." the redhead shrugged. "She's a doctor, you're a doctor. You're English so is she-"

"-I never told you she was a doctor-"

Mel sighed at the interrupting but continued nonetheless. "-You didn't need to. She works at the Clinic with you. You think she's beautiful, going by the pulse in your neck and she likes you; she let you stay over last night.

John exhaled tiredly. "You know, one of these days your guys' deductions are going to get old."

The woman chuckled. She padded over to the kitchen to make some tea. "No they won't!"

"No. They probably won't," John grumbled half-heartedly. He unbuttoned his coat, looking out the window.

"-Perhaps you can get through to him John."

"What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very _intransigent_."

Mel snorted, but this time she was unable to hide it.

There was already hot water in the kettle and she was glad that she didn't have to heat any. She reached up into the cabinet to grab four mugs. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably when she found a glass full of human teeth sitting in a thin solution of what looked like sour milk. She pressed a hand against her nauseous belly and poured the hot water into four mugs. She put the teabags in and strolled back into the sitting room.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" The consulting detective paused in his nonsensical strumming when he saw Mel enter. He placed his violin on the table.

She passed a cup to Mycroft, John, and finally Sherlock. The latter of the men snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her onto his lap. He turned her head so he could reach her lips. He pressed the softest of kisses against her mouth.

"Thank you," he hummed against her lips, suddenly letting her go.

He chugged his tea, despite the heat, and put the cup down so that he could pick up his violin again.

Mycroft looked mildly nauseous.

John smiled.

Mel blushed. "Um... y-you're welcome..." She tugged her sleep shorts down to make sure they were covering her backside.

Mycroft swallowed as if he were attempting to rid a horrid taste from his mouth. "No, no, no, no, no, I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so-" He stopped himself.

Mel raised a brow, looking at the man over the rim of her mug as she took a long sip.

"Well... You don't need to know about that, do you?" Sherlock gave him a dark look. "Besides, as case like this it requires-" he pulled a disgusted face. "-_Legwork,_" he finished, as if it were a curse word.

Sherlock plucked a string irritably. He glance over at john who was massaging his neck. "I'm sorry John, how was the lilo?"

"Sofa, Sherlock," Mycroft sang checking his pocket watch. "It was the sofa."

The detective glanced up and down at the army doctor. "Oh yes, of course," he sighed in disappointment. He went back to his violin.

John, who had just swallowed a mouthful of tea, coughed and sputtered. "How- oh never mind," he sighed, falling back onto the couch.

Mel finished her tea and took Sherlock's cup back to the kitchen. She rinsed them quickly.

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... _pals_. What's he like to live with? Hellish I'd imagine," Mycroft drawled.

"Well, I'm never bored," John informed

"Good... that's good, isn't it?"

Mel returned just as Mycroft stood from his chair. He tried to hand a stack of papers to his brother. Sherlock glared at him and whipped out the bow for his violin, narrowly missing the man. They had a childish staring contest. Finally, Mycroft sighed and passed the papers to John. Just before he was about to debrief them on the situation, Mel wrapped her sweater tight around her, walked up to Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The action seemed to pull him from his negative mood.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she whispered with a smile, turning to go up to her apartment. Sherlock grabbed her hand suddenly, making her turn.

"You have a concussion. Who knows what could happen if you're in your flat. You could go into a coma," he hissed conspiratorially. "Use my shower. Mycroft will be gone soon." Despite the humorous nature of his words, there was an undertone of seriousness.

Mel nodded- emerald eyes searching his face before slipping out of his grip. "Alright."

She walked into Sherlock's room. She hadn't noticed before, but he had an adjoining bathroom. Feeling cheeky, Mel rifled through his closet and pulled out a plain grey t-shirt and a tight pair of boxer-briefs. At the very back of his closet, the woman found a pair of light washed denim jeans. It seemed strange for him to have a pair of jeans. Too... ordinary. Shrugging, she grabbed a black leather belt and headed off into the bathroom.

Mel made sure to lock the door. She knew that if it came down to it though, Sherlock would pick the lock if her wanted to get in. The bathroom was small and ordinary. There was a white porcelain tub that doubled as a bathtub and a shower. The walls were completely covered in blue tile, like the ones in the kitchen. The sink was made of granite.

The dancer's sweater dropped from her shoulders. She stripped off her dirty clothes, folded them, and placed them on the toilet seat. She left the new outfit by the sink as she started the water. As she waited for it to warm, she found Sherlock's toothbrush. It was still wet. Smirking, she brushed her teeth thoroughly before jumping in the shower. She shut the misty shower curtain.

The water was steaming hot. The woman shivered, allowing her body to melt under the cascading water. Using his shampoo and body wash, Mel quickly scrubbed herself clean. She savored the scent of the soap. It smelled just like Sherlock. Biting her lip, the dancer rinsed the suds away and shut off the water. She reached for a large fluffy towel on a shelf next to the tub.

She slipped on the clean set of clothes. The jeans were much too large, so the woman rolled up the legs to fit her and synched in the waistband with the leather belt.

Mel opened the door to the bathroom, allowing billowing clouds of steam to escape into the bedroom. She hastily dried her hair and put it up in a bun, walking back into the sitting room.

Sherlock was sawing out an insufferable melody on his violin, glaring at the front door. As soon as Mel walked in, he stopped. His cool grey eyes took her in, looking her up and down.

"I gather Mycroft just left?" Mel presumed.

"You used my toothbrush," he breathed, as if his mind couldn't get over it.

"Yes," the woman sang happily, skipping over to the chair Mycroft had vacated only minutes before and sank into it.

"You used my shampoo."

She cocked a brow. "Was I not allowed to?"

"Uh- um no- it's fine." He swallowed thickly. "You're wearing my clothes."

The redhead crossed her legs. She grinned. "That's not all I'm wearing..."

His nostrils flared. Pupils dilated. "You're not..."

Mel bit her lip, eyes flashing wickedly. "Oh, but I am, Mr. Holmes."

Their gazes locked.

_1 - 0_

_Bring it on, Mr. Holmes _

From the coffee table, John let out a sigh. "Why'd you lie? You've got nothing on. Not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding-"

Mel sent Sherlock a look. "You're still shooting the wall? I thought you'd stopped..."

He grimaced. "I only do it when you're out of the building. I know how much it reminds you-"

The woman flinched. Sherlock sent her an apologetic half-smile.

"Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" John demanded, lacing his fingers together.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Ah. Oh- nice. Sibling revelry, now we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock's glare pinned on his flatmate was interrupted by his phone ringing.

"Sherlock Homes." He paused. His head raised, eyes fixing on Mel. "Of course. How could I refuse." He stood swiftly, depositing his violin on the leather chair. "Lestrade, I've been summoned. Coming?"

Mel assumed he was only speaking with John.

"If you want me to," the doctor said.

"Of course!" Sherlock cried, grabbing his coat. "I'd be lost without my blogger."

The boys smirked at one another.

Mel sighed, slightly hurt that as soon as something came up she didn't exist.

"Miss McAllister!" She was pulled from her thoughts, looking up to see Sherlock's head peaking around the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you busy today?"

She thought about it. "I don't believe so... Why?"

"Because you're coming with us. Come along."

Shaking her head, Mel got out of the chair. She'd left her brown pair of Ugg boots at their flat the other day, so she slipped her feet into them once she located them in the closet.

The detective was about to grab one of his coats for her. He noticed her expression and stopped. "Is everything alright?"

She looked up into his grey stare. Sighing, the woman shrugged her shoulders. "I just kind of figured you were going to forget about me. Since you're on a case-"

Her words were cut off as Sherlock swooped down to claim her lips with his. Inhaling sharply in surprise, her hands immediately went to his dark curls, pulling him down to her height. Briefly, their teeth clashed. She gasped. Then his tongue was in her mouth. Desire exploded through her like fireworks. She kissed him back, matching his sudden fervor. Her fingers laced in his hair, pulling hard. He grunted, a low sexy sound coming from the back of his throat. One of his hands trailed down her spine while the other cupped the back of her neck. Mel shivered at the sensations.

The man pulled away, releasing her lips after slower, more gentle kiss. His forehead rested against hers. Their breath mingled.

"Did that eliminate any feelings of inadequacy and unimportance you may have?"

Gulping, Mel nodded quickly. Sherlock smirked, pecking her lips one last time. He got a coat from the closet and helped her slip into it. He took her hand.

"Come. This may be the end to my boredom."

Mel bobbed her head, unable to clearly speak. He smirked as if he was reading the woman's mind.

They hurried down the stairs after John. As they exited the building, Sherlock wrapped his arm around the woman's petite waist momentarily. His lips were at her ear.

"I know that you're wearing my underwear," he breathed. "I enjoy the thought quite a bit."

Then he pulled away, jogging out to the street where John was waiting in a taxi.

Mel's jaw dropped.

_That man is going to be the death me_.

The redhead sighed deeply, attempting to expel the desire flooding her system. Knowing it was useless, the woman crosses the street, running off after the handsome consulting detective.

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	8. Chapter 8: 36 Hours

**Hello everyone!**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel :D**

* * *

The taxi ride was filled with silence. Mel gazed out the window at the passing buildings, watching them fly past. The clouds converged above, blocking out the light of the sun.

The boys were quiet, which was always odd.

Her head throbbed painfully at every bump and pothole the cabbie drove over. Perhaps she should've gone back to her apartment. As she massaged her temples, her fingers grazed the bandaged cut above her brow. She winced.

Sherlock swiveled in his seat and gazed over at her. He raised a brow in question. Mel smiled through the pain. It didn't reach her eyes. His cool stare took her in for a long moment. He shifted in the seat, edging closer to the woman. Their thighs brushed. The redhead could feel the heat radiating from the man's body. His legs were encased in perfectly tailored black slacks. His heat filtered through to her denim clad legs.

The woman inhaled deeply, forcing herself not to react. The consulting detective's eyes were focused directly on her- most likely calculating her pulse from the blood pounding through her femoral artery. The memory of the kiss back at the flat invaded her thoughts, not at all helping the dancer's cause. Sudden fantasies bombarded her mind at the man's subtle touch.

_Slim fingers tangled in dark curls. The texture could only be compared to the softest of expensive silks, similar to the sheets beneath the couple. Their limbs were tangled as they held each other in a passionate embrace. The woman sighed. Her senses were under attack. The man tasted of mint and cigarettes. He had the majority of his weight supported on his forearms. She could feel the entirety of his naked body flush against hers- _

Mel shook herself, breaking the contact of their legs. She pressed herself as close as she could to the window. She forced herself to stare outside- if only to rid the images from her head.

_It's as if your mind has degraded to that of a horny schoolgirl. Calm your hormones and ignore the man! _

_Come on, McAllister. Keep it together. _

Straightening her shoulders, the woman steeled her resolve. She began working through complex algebra equations in her head. Then it was on to mentally deconstructing automobiles and their engines. It didn't take long until she was able to quell the ache between her thighs.

John didn't notice the interaction. If he did, the doctor didn't say a word. His gaze was focused outside at the cloudy sky.

Not long after, the taxi pulled up to the curb. Mel had her seatbelt off and had jumped out before the black cab could even roll to a complete stop. She breathed in deep pulls of fresh, chilled air; air that wasn't laced with the scent of Sherlock Holmes.

The army doctor and the detective joined the woman on the sidewalk. They past her, walking in synchronized step to the building ahead. Mel's emerald gaze was drawn upwards. A monstrous glass building towered high above them. _'New Scotland Yard'_, was written in large white letters on the sides of an elevated triangular prism.

The boys turned, noticing the redhead was no longer following them. She jerked into motion, jogging across the pavement to catch up to the men just as they reached the doors. John opened the doors for her, smiling kindly. The dancer returned the gesture. She slipped through the doorway.

The three walked across the polished lobby floor. A man approached them instantly.

_Between the ages of thirty-five and forty. Married unhappily... most likely estranged... Grey hair, relatively handsome... Walks with a sense of power. Most likely a high ranking detective or field agent-_

"Thanks for coming," the man said, offering his hand for Sherlock to shake. The consulting detective brush past him without a word, leaving the hand hanging awkwardly in midair. Just as the man was about to drop his arm, Mel stepped forward and took his hand. She smiled sweetly, ignoring Sherlock as he turned back and narrowed his eyes.

"Mel McAllister," the dancer lilted, shaking his hand firmly.

The man looked flabbergasted. The look passed swiftly as he took in the woman's appearance- looking her up and down. He finally gave her a matching grin.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," he introduced, holding the redhead's petite hand in his for a couple of beats too long. Mel smiled softly and took her hand away. The man flushed.

"It's lovely to meet you, Sir. I've heard that you are quite proficient at your job. Especially on the Piccadilly Circus murder."

He looked surprised. "Really? That's always nice to hear-" He paused. "Ah... you must be the woman Donovan was telling me about. The one who found the victim's daughter. Nice catch, by the way."

"Yes Sir, that'd be me," she nodded, smiling once more. "Thank you."

"Donovan did say you were quite beautiful-"

It was Mel's turn to blush. A bright scarlet hue touched her cheekbones.

A deep, aggravated growl broke off their conversation. Sherlock strode back to them.

"Can we keep moving please?" His voice was tight.

Lestrade looked over at him in surprise and nodded. He proceeded to lead them to the elevators. John was quick to follow him, chatting with the man amicably. They pressed the button to call for the elevator.

Mel rolled her eyes at consulting detective's antics as she moved to follow the men to the lift. A hand wound around her slim wrist, pulling her to a stop. The dancer stumbled and looked back. Sherlock gazed down at the woman- handsome features completely void of any emotion. His grasp was unyielding.

He broke their locked gaze to look over at the other men who'd already stepped into the elevator. They were holding the door.

"I need a moment to speak with Miss McAllister. We'll get the next one," Sherlock called, tightening his grip on the woman's arm.

Mel's heart stuttered.

John glanced at them skeptically. "Alright."

As soon as the other men disappeared from sight, Mel glared at the detective. "Can you please stop _manhandling _me? It's rude!" She attempted to yank her wrist away, but he held fast. He didn't reply- his cool, calculated expression in full force. "Sherlock... Let me _go_." She tried again to break free, but the man was too strong.

He dragged her towards the elevators without a word and pressed the call button.

Mel sighed exasperatedly. "If you wanted to hold my hand, you could _ask_..."

It was obvious the man didn't want to show any sort of public displays of affection. He was mad. No... he was _furious_. Mel look in Sherlock's appearance out of the corner of her eye. A nerve pulsed wildly in his temple. His lips pursed into a straight line. The nerve under his left eye twitched faintly.

Sherlock pulled the woman into the lift and punched the floor number. The doors slid shut, ominously cutting the woman off from the safety of the world. Mel swallowed.

"W-why are you so upset?" She whispered, glanced tentatively up at the man through her dark lashes.

He drew in a heavy breath. His jaw twitched. "I'm not."

"You're a dreadful liar," she muttered. She turned to face the metal doors, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was growing increasingly more and more numb. She tried to move her fingers, but it seemed that the man's grip was inhibiting the movements of the tendons.

He exhaled roughly. It sounded more like a vicious growl. It was animalistic- primal.

Sherlock lunged, pushing the woman flat against the back of the elevator. Before she could move, the man pinned her to the wall with his hips. He snatched her other wrist, easily taking both of them in his large grasp. He lifted her arms above her head, shackling them in a vice-like grip. His free hand went to her hair, tugging forcefully at the scarlet tendrils. Mel let out a gasp at the sudden sting, head tipping back out of her own accord.

His lips crashed down on hers rather violently. The woman gasped once more, this time in astonishment. Sherlock took full advantage, slipping his tongue deftly into her mouth- ravaging her senses. Any semblance of self-control the dancer raised in the taxi ride crumbled to the ground uselessly around her. The kiss was demanding. It was all tongue and heat.

She was completely helpless. His hand was an unbreakable manacle for her wrists. The one in her hair jerked harder, slanting her head for easier access. Sherlock's hips restrained her. Mel felt him thrust lightly against her belly, eliciting a groan from her lips. The consulting detective swallowed the noise, stroking her tongue expertly with his.

Just as she melted into the kiss, Sherlock pulled away. He dropped his hold from her wrists and let go of the hair at the nape of her neck. He stepped back, putting several feet of distance between them. Mel pulled a shaky hand through her tresses, breathing heavily. The man looked down at her calmly, not at all out of breath.

"He was flirting with you." The words were quiet and punctuated with a deadly staccato.

Mel bit her lip. "S-sorry... what are we talking about?" Her head was foggy from the lack of oxygen reaching her brain.

The detective pursed his lips. He moved forward, reaching out a hand. He grasped the woman's chin, softly tugging at it so she released her bottom lip.

"If you do not wish me to take you in this elevator, right now, I would advise you to not bite your lip," he warned, his deep baritone like gravel.

Mel gulped, eyes widening at his words.

"Lestrade was flirting with you; holding your hand too long, calling you 'beautiful' even though Donovan told him you 'pretty', complimenting you..." he trailed off with a sneer.

The redhead pulled away and this time he let her go. "I'm not an object, Sherlock. I'm not your _toy. _You don't own me," she hissed.

The doors opened. Mel exited first.

"I'm most certainly aware of this fact, Melina," Sherlock whispered.

Mel heard a trace of an unknown emotion coloring his tone as she marched away from him. She didn't respond to her words. She was tired of the man's childish attitude.

_The emotion... disappointment?_ _No... that doesn't make sense... _

_Jealously?_

She looked down at her burning wrist. Her skin was an angry pink from his harsh grip. Then she thought over the way he had acted. Growling, almost possessive of her when Lestrade called her beautiful. His overwhelming anger. Then the kiss in the elevator... as if he was marking his territory...

Sherlock Holmes was _jealous_.

Mel shook her head at the audacity of it.

She turned the corner of the hall and found herself in a large office-type space. Lestrade and John were waiting to the side, speaking with one another. They looked over as Mel entered.

"Mel are you alright?" John glanced down at the wrist she was rubbing absentmindedly.

Shaken from her musings, Mel fit her hands in the pockets of Sherlock's coat. "Uh yeah, of course. I'm  
fine."

The doctor frowned. As his flatmate entered the room, he fixed him with a suspicious glare. His gaze flitted back to the young woman.

"You're sure?"

"I'm _fine_, alright? Just leave me be!"

The blonde man was taken aback by the woman's change in tone. She'd never yelled at him before.

Mel rubbed her brow. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm not feeling well... the explosion, you know..."

John nodded slowly in understanding, stepping forward to check the wound above her brow.

Lestrade crossed his arms. "You were injured?"

The dancer shrugged. "Concussion."

The doctor prodded the wound lightly, making the woman wince. "You should be resting," he scolded gently.

She reached up to grasp his hand, bringing it away from her head. "I'll be fine, John. Don't worry about me."

Their gazes locked. She held his hand in hers sweetly. Mel could almost feel the fury rolling off of Sherlock in thick waves. John nodded, taking his hand away.

Sherlock brushed past them, looking at Lestrade expectantly. "Why did you bring us down here?"

The detective inspector nodded. He started walking into the room, expecting the others to follow him. "Ah yes. You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

"Obviously," Sherlock drawled, anger lacing his tone.

"You've love this. That explosion-"

Sherlock glared at Donovan as they passed her desk. "Gas leak, yes?"

Mel noticed the nameplate on the woman's desk: DETECTIVE SERGENT SALLY DONOVAN

"No."

Sherlock glanced up at him in surprise. "No?"

"No," Lestrade repeated, "Made to look like one."

John pulled away from Mel's side, obviously shocked. "What?"

Mel followed the men into what was obviously Lestrade's office.

_Picture frame face down on the desk. Married quite unhappily- White envelope... not supposed to be there-_

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box and inside it was this." Lestrade pointed to the white envelope laying on his desk.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked, incredulous.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?" Lestrade raised a brow. Just as the consulting detective reached for the envelope, the grey-haired man spoke up once more. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

Mel crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"How reassuring..." the brunette hummed dryly. He picked up the envelope and took it across the room to another table with a lamp on it. He held the envelope close to the bulb, examining the sides carefully. Mel couldn't see much of anything, as the man's back was to her.

"Nice stationery. Bohemian..."

Lestrade frowned. "What?"

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"

"No."

Sherlock bent over the envelope. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib."

John walked forward. "'She'?"

The consulting detective exhaled. "Obviously."

"Obviously..." John seemed to be struggling to hold back his exasperation. Mel patted the doctor's back comfortingly.

Sherlock reached over to pick up a letter opener from the desk. And carefully slit the envelope open. He looked inside and his mouth dropped a little in surprise. He reached in and took out a pink iPhone. It was obvious that the phone meant something profound to him.

"But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone!" John cried.

Mel pushed away from the wall. "What is so fantastic about a pink phone...?" she paused, taking in the expressions on the men's faces. "Did it have something to do with a case?"

Sherlock waved a hand. "It was from a murder investigation before you came to-" he cut himself off. "How did you know it had something to do with a case?"

The woman shrugged. "It's a phone. Obviously a woman's phone, so it doesn't belong to either of you. It's too expensive to be the phone of a young girl, so she must've been in her early to late forties. A working woman who likes pink...? Probably someone in the media. You both recognize the phone. Where do you both go? Crime scenes. Something happened on the case- not enough to scar you, but enough to leave an imprint... you were put in a life threatening situation." The man's silence was enough validation. She continued. "Now the phone is here, obviously not the same one- because that one has barely been used- so it has something to do with what happened at the apartment. The explosion. Someone knows the details of your previous investigations. It's logic, boys. Simple observation."

The men looked at her with various expressions of awe.

Lestrade shook himself. "You're the female version of Sherlock..."

Mel smirked. "Ah no, certainly not. I don't believe the world could handle two of our favorite consulting detective," the woman hummed softly.

Everyone chuckled expect for Sherlock. He narrowed his eyes. The redhead avoided his gaze.

"Is it the phone from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ..." He stopped, registering what the man had said. "The Study in Pink? You read the blog?"

The dancer frowned. "There's a blog?"

Lestrade chuckled. "Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?"

Donovan- who'd entered the office to grab a file folder- snickered childishly.

Mel rolled her eyes. "I don't read the blog..." the young woman breathed, but none of the men were paying her any attention.

Sherlock slid his gloves off, pinning Sally with a cool stare. John purses his lips in embarrassment. The rude woman left the room. Sherlock turned his concentration back to the phone.

"Miss McAllister was correct. This isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." He paused. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." He finished, throwing an accusatory glare at his flatmate. He switched on the phone.

"YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE." The voice alert of the phone notified.

Then the phone began to beep.

It stopped seconds later.

"Is that it?" John asked.

"No. That's not it."

Mel stepped forward, accompanied by Lestrade. The other men were looking at a picture on the mobile. The picture was of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The unflattering wallpaper peeled from the wall. There was a mirror propped up in the corner and another on the mantel of the fireplace.

The woman stopped. Images shot through her mind before she could stop them. She vaguely heard the men talking. She closed her eyes, pushing away the outside noise; filtering through every image she'd seen since she'd arrived.

_That wallpaper..._

_221C Baker Street. The flat._

Mel gasped, stumbling back. "I know where it is."

The men stopped talking and looked to the young woman. The room was filled with silence.

John stepped forward. "Mel?"

"It's the goddamned apartment!"

At the blank looks the men gave her, the redhead groaned. "Honestly? You're not going to say anything?"

The woman groaned impatiently. She stepped out of Lestrade's office before they could say anything. The dancer strode down the hall back to the elevator. She jabbed the call button, tapping her foot anxiously. Behind her, she heard three sets of feet jogging to catch up.

...

The taxi ride back to Baker Street was cramped. Sherlock had jumped in right after Mel, as if he didn't want Lestrade to sit too close to her. John sat in front of her. The dancer jumped out of the cab as soon as if pulled up to the curb. She burst through the front doors, leaving the men to pay for the taxi. Her mind had been whirring obnoxiously since New Scotland Yard.

She knocked kindly on Mrs. Hudson's door despite the hastiness thundering through her limbs. The 221a plaque taunted her.

"Mrs. Hudson! It's Mel, could you come to the door, please?"

Moments later, she heard shuffling. The door unlatched and opened. Mrs. Hudson popped her head out. "Oh, hello dear. Are you feeling better?"

Mel smiled despite herself. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." Footsteps leaped up the front stairs and into the building. "I actually have a favor to ask of you."

The elderly woman smiled. "Anything for you, my dear."

The dancer's heart warmed. "We actually need you to open 221c, if you could."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Of course." She left for several moments and everyone moved down the narrow corridor to the flat in question. Several minutes after, Mrs. Hudson exited her flat. She handed Mel a set of keys. Sherlock looked up from the padlock he'd been examining on the door. Mel gave the keys to the consulting detective. He took them without a glance in her direction and began to unlock it.

"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat. And I sent you that picture before you came to London, my dear," the landlady said. John gazed back at Mel, raising a brow.

"You recognized the flat from a picture you saw more than a month ago?"

The young woman shrugged. "I have a good memory-"

"She has a photographic and eidetic memory, John," Sherlock hummed.

Mel sighed in irritation, ignoring the shocked looks sent her way. "It's not a big deal..."

"She's lying. It's extremely rare. Less than two percent of the world have either, let alone both," his deep voice sounded once more. The woman bit the inside of her mouth to hold off a nasty retort. "The door's been opened recently."

Mrs. Hudson gasped. "No, can't be. That's the only key."

Sherlock pulled off the padlock and selected another key and inserted it into the keyhole.

The landlady sighed. "I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements."

Sherlock turned the key and pulled the door open. He immediately entered. John and Lestrade followed quickly.

"I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls-"

Mel slipped through just before Lestrade closed the door. Unfortunately, he rudely cut off Mrs. Hudson. They reached the bottom of the stairs quickly, pushing open the door to the living room. They entered rather tentatively. There was no doubt in Mel's mind that it was the place the picture was taken from. Then her gaze trailed down. She frowned.

John was the first to break the silence. "Shoes."

The young redhead couldn't help but find the ridiculously obvious statement amusing.

Sherlock walked towards them but the doctor shot a cautionary hand towards him.

"He's a bomber, remember."

The consulting detective paused momentarily before resuming his path. Mel exhaled and crossed her arms over her chest. He crouched down, putting his hands on the floor. He leaned forward. Finally, he flattened his entire body on the ground, analyzing the shoes meticulously. The man made sure not to touch them, but started to move closer. The shrill ringing of a phone broke the tense moment. Everyone jumped, including the man laying on his belly like a snake.

Mel placed the heel of her hand against her forehead, chuckling anxiously.

Sherlock stood and pulled off his gloves. He took the pink iPhone out of his coat pocket and looked at the caller I.D. He paused for a beat before answering the call.

"Hello?"

"H-hello... sexy..." Tearful sobs flooded from the phone's speakers.

Mel looked up in alarm.

"Who's this?"

"I've sent you a little... puzzle..." The woman whimpered. "Just to say... _hi_."

"Who's talking?" Sherlock demanded. "Why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not crying ... I'm typing... and this ... stupid ..._ bitch_ ... is reading it out..." The caller cried out heartbreakingly.

"The curtain rises," Sherlock muttered, mind far away.

Mel exhaled shakily, stepping forward to speak into the phone. John wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. She glared at the doctor and tried to move away. He responded by winding both of his arms around her. The redhead grumbled, struggling to extract herself out of his surprisingly tight grip.

"What?" John grunted, locking his arms around the struggling woman.

"Nothing."

"No, what did you mean?"

Sherlock turned and raised a brow. Mel was lifted completely off the ground, kicking madly. She wriggled around, trying to bite the doctor's arm.

"...I've been expecting this for some time."

"Twelve hours to solve my puzzle... Sherlock..." There was a shiver in her voice. "Or I'm going to be so... naughty..."

The phone went dead.

Mel managed to bite down on John's forearm, sinking her teeth in. He dropped her with a shout, grabbing his arm. The redhead dropped to the ground.

"Y-you _bit _me! YOU BLOODY BIT ME!"

Mel grimaced, wiping her mouth, attempting rid the salty taste of her friend's skin. "A very astute deduction, Dr. Watson." She coughed. "You taste like... garlic..." She pulled a disgusted face. "I hate garlic..."

John's jaw dropped. He went a particularly vibrant shade of tomato red. The other men looked at the two with various looks of humor and impassiveness.

"Thank you for holding onto her, John," Sherlock drawled, obviously the latter.

The petite tried to look as foreboding as possible by puffing her chest and fixing a deadly stare on the detective. "_Excuse_ me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I had a feeling that you'd try something reckless or interrupt. Before we exited the taxi, I made John promise to hold you if it did happen. It was pure luck that you got out first, giving us enough time to chat." A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "It's a good thing I accounted for that scenario."

Mel gaped. "That poor woman..." She shook her head, throwing up her hand heatedly. "None of you even care! Do you?"

She left the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaped up the stairs and burst out of the building. The young woman sucked the cool air into her lungs, relishing in the sweet burning sensation. She sat heavily on the front steps, covering her face with her hands.

_How can they not care? That woman could die... Is this all a game to him?-_

The front door opened slowly. Mel didn't turn. She heard a deep sigh.

"Melina, I need to go to St. Bartholomew's to examine the trainers," the deep baritone voice explained.

The woman exhaled, swallowing her anger. "Right..."

"Would you like to accompany John and I?"

"No."

The man growled. "Will you please answer me with more than monosyllables?"

"No."

Groan. "Be _reasonable_, Melina-"

She stood robotically and turned to look at the handsome detective. His sharp jaw was clenched with tension. His silver eyes flashed. "You made John manhandle me and you're telling _me_ to be reasonable?! I'm not a child, Sherlock!" Her voice echoed through the street.

His brows knitted together. "I believe that fact it obvious." The heat of his eyes trailed down the woman's body.

She fought off a blush and crossed her arms over her chest. "Sherlock... my eyes are up here."

The man's gaze drifted back to her face.

Mel raised a brow.

He shrugged unrepentantly. "I'm pointing out the obvious, Melina. I'm aware you are a woman. I wouldn't be in a relationship with you if you were a child, as you say."

She raked a hand through her long tresses. "Then stop treating me like one!"

Sherlock stopped.

Their gazes locked in a silent battle. Mel implored the beautiful, controlling, jealous man to understand. She swallowed. Several minutes later, Sherlock finally nodded.

"I will not 'manhandle' you again, unless it's absolutely necessary."

She sent him a pointed look. "No, not at all."

Sherlock stalked forward slowly. "But you like it when I kiss you, don't you? Or if I lift you if you're in trouble or hurt?"

Mel blushed scarlet. Memories of the kiss in the elevator returned to her. "_Fine_. Just no control freak tendencies, alright?"

He smirked, reaching down to grasp her wrist. She watched him skeptically. He pushed the cuff of her jacket sleeve up, revealing only a small strip of pale flesh, still smarting and pink from his treatment. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to it softly. "I apologize if I hurt you this morning," he whispered against her skin- grey eyes watching her every move.

The sight of him doing this made Mel smile. She couldn't be angry with him when he was this sweet. It was a strange sight to behold.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The front door opened again and Lestrade and John exited. Mel looked up, slipping her hand from the consulting detective's loose grip. Her emerald eyes shot to the doctor.

"I apologize for biting you, John."

He waved it off, chuckling. "It's alright. Just remind me to never get on your bad side."

They all laughed.

"So, are you coming with us to Bartholomew's?" John asked.

Mel smiled. "Of course. We have a woman to save."

...

Sherlock brought the trainers to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. They were up in one of the science labs and the detective was thoroughly examining them, hands covered in a pair of latex gloves. He gazed at the shoes, picking them up so he could clearly see every fibre of the laces. He turned them around in every possible direction. He dug out crusted dirt from the treads in the soles and placed the sample into a Petri dish. Finally he place the shoes down, looking at them thoughtfully.

Mel was curled up in a chair, Sherlock's wool coat covering her, reading a book. She read through it leisurely, taking her time. The lab was completely silent, excluding the John's quiet pacing and the detective's deep exhales. His eyes were focused completely on what was under his microscope. The computer next to him was running an analysis on various samples he'd collected. John finally stopped pacing. Mel glanced up over her book. He sat down on the other side of the bench Sherlock was on.

"So, who d'you suppose it was?"

Sherlock's phone alerted to another text message. "Hmm?"

"The woman on the phone – the crying woman," John clarified.

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there."

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"You're not going to be much use to her," the detective drawled, glancing to the scanner. Another "NO MATCH" sign blinked on the screen. He went back to his microscope.

John sighed. "Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?

"The bomber's too smart for that." The phone alerted another text. "Pass me my phone."

John frowned. "Where is it?"

"Jacket."

Mel chuckled at the look the doctor sent the him. "I'll do it, don't worry John." She put down her book and folded the wool coat. She padded over to Sherlock. She pressed her lips to the man's smooth cheek, reaching inside of his jacket. Her hand brushed taut muscle, fingernails lightly grazing his side. He inhaled sharply, straightening under her touch. Mel retrieved the phone, not letting him have too much fun; he was working, of course. The redhead pulled away, phone in hand. She noticed the man shift on the bench.

She grinned triumphantly. "It's from Mycroft." She passed it to John before making her way back to her chair.

"Delete it," Sherlock breathed.

John looked at him. "Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

The doctor looked down at the phone. "Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

Sherlock glanced up from the microscope, obviously annoyed. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"

"His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" He went back to work.

Mel found herself chuckling at the first portion of his speech and scowling at the latter.

"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die," John sighed.

"My sentiments exactly," Mel groaned.

"What for?" Sherlock looked up again.

"This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

Mel inhaled sharply. "Sherlock, please!"

John turned away in disbelief. Sherlock looked back into the microscope. Just then, the computer alerted there was a result.

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaimed joyously. The screen was flashing "SEARCH COMPLETE".

At the same moment, a sweet looking woman in her late twenties entered. Her eyes were brown and matched the mousy hue of her hair.

The woman smiled. "Any luck?"

"Oh, yes!"

The woman turned and saw the redhead. "Oh hello!"

The dancer smiled softly. "Hello. Mel McAllister." She stood, reaching out a hand.

"Oh yes, I'm Molly Hooper."

Mel's lips stretched into a grin as the woman took her hand and shook it timidly. Her grip was slightly clammy, but the redhead didn't mind. Molly seemed like a sweet person. The shy woman's thin lips pulled up at the corners, forming a kind answering smile. Mel dropped her hand and walked back to her chair.

Suddenly, the door opened once more.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't..." An awkward man's voice came from the door. Mel froze. She knew that voice. Mel looked up. Her heart seized in her chest.

_Jim. From the Royal Ballet... the only man who wasn't an actual dancer... _

He was thankfully wearing brown slacks and a T-shirt, this time.

Molly stood straighter and grinned at the sight of him. "Jim! Hi!" He made as if he were about to leave but the mousy woman stopped him "Come in! Come in!"

Mel swallowed. The man ignored her completely as he walked into the room.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah!"

Molly looked at John blankly. "And, uh... sorry..."

The doctor took pity on her. "John Watson. Hi."

Jim smiled. "Hi."

Mel crossed her arms and frowned. Molly turned to her. "Ah yes, and this is Mel Calis-"

"McAllister." Both the dancer and Jim spoke at the same time. Molly looked at them in surprise. Mel's emerald eyes flashed. The short man sent her the same predatory grin her gave the day of the call-back. Their eyes clashed in a silent, heated battle.

He turned back to the consulting detective, where he resumed staring adoringly at his back.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance."

Mel gritted her teeth. "So you aren't with the Royal Ballet," she hissed under her breath.

He turned back, gazing at her innocently. "Of course not! I can't dance at all!"

The redhead tightened her arms around her, as if she were trying to protect herself from the man. "Why were you there, then?"

He cocked his head to the side. "You must have me mistaken with someone else. Uh Mel, was it?"

She had the sudden urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah."

He smiled creepily. It was toothy and wide. No one else saw it. "I'll remember that name."

She shivered, willing herself not to just punch the man.

Sherlock glanced briefly at Jim before returning his gaze into his microscope. "Gay," he hummed quietly.

_AGREED._

Molly's smile faded. "Sorry, what?"

The detective raised his head, realizing his mistake. "Nothing." He nodded, sending the man a fake smile. "Um, hey."

Jim smiled adoringly back at him. "Hey."

He lowered his hand and accidently knocked a metal dish off the edge of the table. He scrambled to pick it up. John turned away, not able to watch the atrociously awkward moment. Mel watched him slip a piece of paper underneath it. Sherlock watched him with plain irritation written in his features.

Jim giggled. "Sorry! Sorry!"

_He giggled. He giggled. The underwear. Tinted lashes and brows. There is no way in heaven or earth that this man is not gay._

He clapped his hands, moving behind the detective. "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?"

"Yeah!" Molly beamed enthusiastically. The man stopped beside her and glanced back at Sherlock.

"Bye."

"Bye," Molly whispers back.

"It was nice to meet you," he stated, addressing the brunette.

Much to Mel's pleasure, Sherlock ignored him. Jim gazed at him longingly.

John broke the awkward pause. "You too."

Jim blinked at the doctor, looking awkward, then turned to leave. Mel wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, wishing she hadn't taken off Sherlock's coat. The more layers she would've had the better the situation would've been. Jim raked his eyes up and down the redhead and winked. He brushed up against her. Mel shied away. Thankfully, he left soon after.

Mel breathed out a sigh of relief and sank into the chair behind her. She frowned. The woman heard a distinct crinkling noise emitting from her jean pocket. She reached in and pulled out a perfectly folded piece of stationary. Heart thudding, the woman opened the note.

...

**_Hello again, Miss McAllister._**

**_Let's play Hide-and-Seek, shall we? _**

**_Please don't bother warning your little boyfriend. I have ears everywhere and I'll have to kill all of you before our game has even begun. Where's the fun in that, Angel? Don't be boring. _**

**_You get 36 hours starting as soon as I exit these doors._**

**_If you manage to hide from me after that entire time, I will let you live. _**

**_If I find you before... Well, I gather you can figure that out on your own._**

**_All my love, _**

**_-M _**

**_P.S. I do love making you dance... _**

_..._

Fingers of ice clenched around her heart. She folded the paper and stuffed it into her back pocket, trying her very best to hide the fear coursing through her veins.

"-He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil ...? He's not!"

Sherlock snorted. "With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear.

Molly looked disturbed. "His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand," he commented, reaching for the note under the metal dish. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here ... and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly stared at the consulting detective in complete and utter shock. She turned and ran out of the room. Sherlock looked up, completely surprised.

John groaned. "Charming. Well done."

Mel tuned the rest of their conversation out. Her mind was whirling. Did the two men not pay any attention that Jim was at the call-back? Did they not care?

_Nothing is coincidence. It's the same man. He admitted that he can't dance, so why was he there? Was he following me? No... that's just paranoia... But what if it isn't? Is it connected to the case?_-

"Melina, will you please share you insight with John?" There was a pause. "Melina?"

_Is he's following me? Is this all about Sherlock? Is he using me to get closer to him?_

"_Mel_!"

She vaguely recognized that John's face filled her sight. Fingers were pressed against the pulse in her wrist.

_What if this is all an act? Is he an enemy of Sherlock's? _

Fingers prodded the side of her throat.

_Most importantly, how did he now? About Hide-and-Seek?_

"Mel?" The whisper was close to her ear.

The woman jolted out of the chair, breathing heavily. The hands on her disappeared. She pressed the heel of her hand to her aching head and bit her lip.

_Who the hell is Jim- or M- and what does he want from me? He's going to kill us all..._

The woman felt something trickle down her chin. She brought her hand up. When she pulled it away, she saw that it was covered in blood. The redhead inhaled sharply, releasing her full bottom lip from her sharp teeth. She looked up.

Both John and Sherlock were towering over her.

The doctor was gazing at her in confusion and worry. His kind eyes took in her movements.

Mel stumbled back, putting space between them. She struggled to wipe her lip with the back of her hand, but the blood smeared across her chin.

Sherlock- who'd somehow managed to pull himself away from his microscope- regarded her with narrowed eyes. Mel could almost see the gears turning in his mind at he observed her.

There was a tremor in her hand as she stuffed the note further into her back pocket, hoping neither of the men would notice. Smiling shakily, Mel moved to the door. Her steps faltered slightly. She pressed her sweating palms against her jean-clad thighs, praying for some semblance of normality in her actions.

"Uh, I'm going to go to the washroom. I'll see you guys later."

The woman was proud that her voice barely shook. Her tone was quiet- the boys would notice that, no doubt- but it wasn't terrible.

"Melina?" Sherlock sounded so confused.

She forced herself to breathe calmly as she exited the doors.

"Mel!"

The door closed behind her, shutting her off from the boys. The dancer sent a look in both directions down the hall. It was strangely empty for such a busy hospital.

Mel ran a hand through her hair. She remembered the blood and wiped it as well as she could from her face. She looked back to the lab, thankful neither of the men had come out yet. The door pushed open.

_Damn._

Her frightened eyes fell on Sherlock. His brow creased. His silver gaze ran over her, taking her in. He was attempting- and failing- to decipher what was going on.

**_I'll give you 36 hours starting as soon as I exit these doors. _**

Steeling her resolve, Mel took off running.

"Melina!" Sherlock yelled, taking off after her. "Stop!"

The dancer's boots pounded the tile floor. Her heart thudded deafeningly in her ears. She sprinted to the elevators. The doors were just about to shut. Mel slid her petite frame through the small opening. Gasping for air, she flattened herself against the back wall. The doors slid shut. She heard Sherlock's frame slam against the doors.

"Bugger!_ Melina!_" He bellowed.

The dancer swallowed air greedily into her lungs. She glanced over. On the other side of the small space, an elderly man watched her with wide eyes. He shifted his grip on the cane he was propped up with.

"You must've been keen for the lift."

Mel chuckled, pressing her back against the wall. The cool metal bar pressed into the back of her thin grey t-shirt. "Yeah, something like that," she whispered, letting her eyes shut for a moment, just listening to the stereotypical elevator music.

**_I do love making you_**** dance...**

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**Hope you guys liked it! **

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	9. Chapter 9: Hiding

**Hello my lovelies! Here are my responses for the past two chapters. I apologize for skipping the last one!**

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**turtleneck:** I apologize for not responding in the previous note! Thank you so much for your sweet words :) I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

**sherlockhomesgeek:** I'm glad you liked it! I have read your story, and I think it's quite interesting xD I will review as soon as I finish this chapter.

**lollipop112:** Thank you!

**harliesue:** A) always happy to provide a laugh! B) Thank you 3/C) I don't know, but I'm doing the same thing. I watched The Great Game over the weekend, and I was like "WTF. WHERE DID MEL GO?!"... And then I just realized I was being a complete nutcase. Oh well. It's all good ;D Thanks for reviewing!

**Leader of the Nargles:** Thank you so much! Oh, don't cry hon. Here's another chapter, just for you!

**Slyork1991:** Merci beaucoup :)

**hannahhobnob:** Yep. Crime scenes are bloody romantic. Teehee. Puns are funny. -cough- sorry. Oh lord. I may just use that later on in the story. Thanks man. ;P

**Frstbitten:** Welcome! I hope you enjoy my story and appreciate the cookies! :D

**CaughtInTheStorm:** Hello again! Just FYI, I've read your story draft and enjoyed it quite a bit! I wish you all the luck in the world! I apologize for not responding, but the site's been on the fritz whenever I try to check my PMs. Thanks so much!

**Guests 1,2,3,4,5,6,7:** Thank you!

**Emilynoelofrivendell:** Hello darling! Thanks from coming over from my other stories! Merci!

**sassy starkid potterhead girl:** Thank you :D

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Sorry for the wait! Hold onto your hat, I think this chapter may just blow you away ;) Thanks for continuing to review and for being one of my sweetest reviewers!

**harliesue:** Hahaha I'm glad you're having a good time. Let's turn up the volume and start dancing like nutters. This party's gonna get crazy! lol

**CaughtInTheStorm:** Thank you so much! I'm definitely planning more dancing in the future.

**Slyork1991:** Oh no, honey... He does that all on his own. ;D Thanks for reviewing!

**watergoddesskasey:** Thank you!

**fandomenforcer:** I know! For some reason, I always send my character through the wringer... lol. Thanks for reviewing!

...

**Disclaimer: I only own what you don't see in the episodes :D**

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By the time the elevator arrived on the ground floor, Mel had yet to calm down. The quiet hum of the pulleys and cables whirred in the background. The air was cool, lifting the hair on her bare arms. She'd forgotten to take her coat. The woman wore only the consulting detective's light-wash jeans and thin grey shirt.

_Please forgive me, Sherlock..._

The words flitted through her mind before she could stop them.

_If we all get out of this alive, will he understand why I ran? That I'm doing this for him? For John?_

_Will he be able to figure out what happened?_

The descending motion slowed until it reached complete stop. A pleasant bell alerted they'd reached the ground floor. Mel shifted from foot to foot. There was a chance Sherlock would attempt to catch her before she could exit the hospital if her took the stairs. The risk was slim- he had a case and a woman's life on the line- but the redhead accounted for the possibility nonetheless.

The elderly man next to her cleared his throat. "If it wouldn't be too much of a trouble, Miss, could you help me to my car? The old knee is giving me quite a bit of trouble these days."

Mel's brow creased.

_I didn't plan on that happening..._

The doors slid open, leaving the woman with an impossible predicament. Help the man to his car and most likely get intercepted by Sherlock or take the lower road and be ridiculously impolite. Her brain tried to work through routes, intersections, hallways... but she hadn't seen much of the hospital as it was.

Plastering a smile on her lips, she took the man's arm. "I'd love to."

He gave her an elated smile, but the majority of it was covered in a bushy moustache. Tipping the brim of his flat cap graciously, he linked arms with her- steadying himself with the cane in his other hand.

"Where's your car?" Mel asked the man kindly as they walked across the front foyer.

The man smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "Ah yes, it's in the car park on the second level."

The dancer frowned, looking up at him. "Couldn't we have used the elevator?"

The man chuckled, clear blue eyes taking in her impatience. "There's a separate lift. Over there." He pointed a finger at a small door at the end of the main hall. Mel looked around nervously, making her way to the door with the man as fast as possible. She exhaled roughly.

The one moment when she needed to run, and she had to help an old man to his car.

_You didn't have to. You agreed. You could've turned him down-_

_I will not be rude to strangers just because some lunatic is threatening me! I'm not going to stoop down to his level. I've already done enough by agreeing to play his game._

Mel head snapped around at a thundering bang. She looked back. Her heartbeat faltered.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the hall, just outside the stairwell doors. His jaw was tense with anger. Pale eyes were storming as if clouds were converging in their depths. His nostrils flared.

He was no longer the man Mel was in a relationship with.

This man was animalistic.

Raw.

He was hunting.

John was breathless as he stumbled into the consulting detective's back. He looked around wildly, not quite focusing on anything for too long. He said something to Sherlock, pointing off in the opposite direction.

Her heartbeat slowed, praying they went that way.

Just then, she reached the door to the car park lift. The redhead yanked it open. The hinges protested. The dancer helped the old man into the small space and attacked the door close button viciously. She glanced up, scanning the hall.

Sherlock's head had turned. His expression was utterly impenetrable as their gazes locked. Instead of bolting for the elevator, Sherlock whispered something to the army doctor. The blonde man nodded, gazing over at Mel. The consulting detective spun around, ripped open the door to the stairwell and disappeared from sight. The double doors swung shut desolately behind them.

The lift doors finally closed, cutting her off from the hallway. Mel swallowed. She knew what the men were planning. She just prayed she'd be able to outrun them.

She looked up at the old man. His chest heaved with the exertion. Wrinkled lips opened and closed swiftly, giving the man the look of a gaping fish out of water.

Mel smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry for rushing."

He waved a hand. "Don't worry about me. I saw the man coming after you. Seeing how upset he was, I'd probably run away from him too." He winked conspiratorially.

The dancer giggled, bringing a hand to cover her mouth. Her sounds developed a hysterical edge. Her chest heaved. The man sent a strange look her way. Tears ran down her cheeks. Mel hastily wiped them away.

"Oh my goodness," she breathed, bending over at the waist. Her hands were supported against her knees. Nausea flooded her belly.

The man watched her carefully. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Mel paused, swallowing. She straightened up.

_Is he? _

"I'm not really sure," she finally said. "We never really got to that point."

The lift slowed.

The doors opened with a loud hum.

The car park was empty and dimly lit. The incandescent bulbs above flickered ominously. Only a few vehicles were parked in various sections. Taking the old man's arm, she stepped tentatively from the elevator. The man next to her pointed a weathered finger to his car. It was beaten up and at least twenty years too old.

"Would you like a ride anywhere?" He asked, his gravelly voice reverberated through the parking lot.

Mel cringed, glancing all around them. Any noise would attract Sherlock. "If you could drop me off on the main street, that'd be lovely," she whispered.

He smiled and bobbed his head. "It's the least I can do."

Heart beating sporadically, the dancer helped the man open his car and slip in. Just as she moved around to the passenger side, a loud bang echoed through the stale air.

Mel froze.

John and Sherlock were running across the pavement. They sprinted towards her.

"Mel!" The army doctor cried.

The sight of the men shook the redhead from her stupor. She jumped into the car and slammed the door. The old man revved the engine. A pitiful spluttering noise started. Then it cut off.

Mel stared at the man with wide eyes. "Come on!"

She looked out the window. Sherlock picked up his pace. He was only meters away.

The engine coughed loudly once more and it roared to life. The dancer's heart pounded against her ribs painfully.

"Go!" She cried.

The tires squealed. Billowing clouds of smoke erupted from the exhaust pipe. They pulled out of the garage swiftly. Looking back, Mel saw the men had disappeared again.

The old man pulled out onto the main road.

The woman jumped out before he could even pull over. She ran through several lanes of traffic, narrowly missing getting hit by a semi. Horn blared. Drivers shouted. She didn't look behind her to see if the men were following. Her boots struck the pavement hard as she jumped out of the road. It was only a short sprint to the bus stop. A large crowd of people waited. Her luck held.

A red double-decker bus pulled up seconds later. This was her only chance. In a long distance, the boys would catch her easily. The only reason she'd been able to evade them thus far was because she had the element of surprise. It was likely the consulting detective had the entire city mapped out in his head. They'd find her. She had to do this. It was for their own good. People stared, but she ignored them. Mel slid deftly through the tight doors. The driver was reading the newspaper and paid her no attention. Tired passengers glared at her irritably as she squeezed past. Mel slid into the seat right behind the second set of doors. She beside an old woman. She held a pink leather purse in her lap. Mel smiled kindly at her. Taking the hair tie from her wrist, she quickly fastened her long red hair back into a tight bun. She watched as the final people trickled in and out of the doors. Relief flooded the dancer as the doors swung shut. The bus pulled away from the curb.

Suddenly, a dark figure jumped into the street. Loud pounding resounded through the bus as a man slammed his palm against the window. Heads turned to look to the front doors. He was followed shortly by another man.

Mel's breath caught in her throat.

_Please don't let them on. Please don't-_

The bus driver sighed tiredly and opened the doors.

_Damn._

Mel moved out of her seat subtly and exited the second set of doors. She glanced over and saw that both of the boys had gotten on the bus. The doors closed behind her. The bus pulled away. The dancer exhaled.

_You have to admit, the man's persistent._

The redhead hopped back onto the sidewalk. The frigid air raised the hair on her bare arms. Her breath came in faint, wispy clouds. She walked in silence for a long stretch of time.

Then she heard the shrill ring of a phone. It sent her heart racing again. It was coming from the empty phone booth next to her. Ignoring it, the woman continued walking down the street. The ringing followed her. The mobiles of people passing on the street chimed. When they went to answer it, they frowned and looked at the dancer before hanging up.

Her pale skin flushed.

She picked up her pace and turned into a small coffee shop. Thankfully, it was empty. The shop was quaint. Soft jazz permeated the air. The wallpaper had small teacups printed all over it.

The young barista behind the counter smiled. "What can I get you?"

"Nothing right now. I'm waiting for someone," Mel fibbed easily, keeping her voice level. The girl nodded in understanding and started wiping down her counter. The dancer fell into one of the armchairs at the center of the room. Her slight frame sunk into the plush leather. There were other wooden chairs and tables, but it felt nice to sit on the comfortable piece of furniture. The scent of coffee filled her nostrils. It slowed the final remnants of her rapid heartbeat. She leaned forward. Her elbows rested against her knees. Her face was in her hands.

She didn't know how long she sat like that.

The tiny bell chimed above the door.

Mel's back went rigid. Her eyes flew open.

_Is that Sherlock? _

_Or is it Jim? Has he already found me already? It hasn't even been an hour-_

"Hello, Miss McAllister." The pompous, accented voice was familiar.

The woman glanced up. "Good afternoon, Mycroft."

Sherlock's brother was wearing the same suit as earlier that morning. He sat in the chair next to hers, rubbing his jaw. He winced.

Mel cocked her head to the side. "Dentist?" She asked, catching the man off guard.

He looked at her oddly. "Root Canal."

She nodded. "Would you like something to drink?"

Mycroft shook his head. "We don't have time for that. You need to come with me."

_THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL-_

"I'd rather not, actually... I'm afraid if I go with you, I'll never be seen again. My body will never be found. I'll end up chopped into little pieces and thrown into a river."

The older Holmes smirked. It seemed as though he was trying not to laugh. "You are so dramatic, my dear. My brother is so very concerned about your wellbeing, for some reason. He texted me seven times during my appointment." Mel looked over at him in surprise as he fiddled with the umbrella in his hand. "He wanted me to tell you that he apologizes, but he must rescue the poor woman strapped to the bomb. Your sudden departure was... _confusing_ to him." He paused, just watching her. She shifted in her seat. "What I want to know, is why did you run?" Calculating grey eyes searched green. He was looking for some sort of answer. "Is someone threatening you?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

_The note only said that you couldn't tell Sherlock. It didn't say anything about Mycroft..._

His cold gaze watched her skeptically as she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the letter. The white stationary was wrinkled from being sat on several times. She handed it to Mycroft. The tremor in her left hand would be imperceptible to a passerby. The man noticed. His eyes narrowed slightly. His hand were covered in black leather gloves; most likely to not get fingerprints on it. They reminded her of a certain consulting detective. Mycroft read it over, analyzing it carefully. He sat like that for a long time.

Mel fidgeted.

She rubbed her hands together.

She shifted in the seat, making it squeak obnoxiously under her weight.

Glancing at the clock behind the counter, the dancer saw that they'd been silent for almost forty-five minutes. Sighing, she went to the register. The barista smiled kindly.

"Ready to order?"

"May I have a small vanilla bean hot chocolate please?"

The girl nodded, punching the numbers into the register. "Whipped cream?"

"Nope."

"That'll be £1.20."

Just as Mel was about to reach for her wallet, Mycroft cleared his throat loudly from his seat.

"Just put it on my tab."

The redhead frowned. The barista's eyes widened. Her hands smoothed the wrinkles from her black apron. "Oh Mr. Holmes! Of course! Would you like me to get you anything else? The usual, perhaps?"

"No thank you, Wendy." He sighed, sounding preposterously bored.

_Does he know everyone?_

The girl nodded and flitted around behind the counter, preparing the woman's hot chocolate. Mel strolled back to her chair and slumped into it. Mycroft finally looked up from the letter, folding it carefully. He took out a plastic bag from his coat pocket and slipped the paper inside.

Mel raised a brow. "That's convenient."

He ignored her comment and placed the bag in his pocket. "You're coming with me, Miss McAllister."

She scowled. "I thought we went over this. I'm not going _anywhere_ with you."

Mycroft stood, straightening his tie. "I could always threaten you..."

She kept her face void of expression as she looked up at the man. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

He smirked. "Perhaps."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"I'm not going," Mel hissed forcefully.

Mycroft sighed exasperatedly. "Don't make me get my hands dirty, Miss McAllister. Neither of us will appreciate it."

"I'm. Not. Going."

Tension filled the air.

They halted their conversation as Wendy came over with her drink. It was packaged to go. The barista passed it to Mycroft. He paused for only a moment before giving it to Mel. The redhead thanked the young girl and took a small sip. Wendy smiled and went into the back room.

The swirling flavors of chocolate and vanilla swirled over her tongue. She savored the heat of it as it slid easily down her throat. It soothed the ache from all the running only hours earlier. The woman noticed that Mycroft was watching her very carefully. His cloudy grey eyes stared at her, gazing at her throat as she swallowed.

_Why is he watching me...?_

"What?" She asked as she stood.

He pursed his lips. He watched her even closer, glancing down at her cup of hot chocolate almost... Expectantly.

Mel's head began to pound. It was only a small throbbing. Then it spread, encompassing her entire skull. Her head felt like it was going to explode. Suddenly her vision blurred, filling with black spots. She looked down at the cup in her hands. The woman's heart thudded in her ears. Stumbling back, the full cup slid from her grasp. It fell through the air in slow motion. The liquid spilled out. Droplets flew through the air. Finally, the cardboard cup made contact with the floor. The hot drink splashed over the tile. It got all over the hem of Mycroft's trousers. He grimaced.

Mel gasped for air. "Did..." The dancer gagged. "Y-you...You poisoned me...?"

Her eyes went wide as Mycroft followed her calmly through the empty café. He gazed down at his designer watch- waiting patiently. Mel knocked over chairs and tables, trying to put any sort of obstacle between them. The jazz music spiraled hauntingly around her. Her limbs were heavy. She blinked away the fuzziness clouding her vision.

_The barista passed the drink to him first. His back was turned for a moment before he gave it to you. He must've slipped something inside-_

"Save your energy, Miss McAllister. It's easier if you don't fight it," he drawled with no small amount of boredom.

The room spun around her. Mel lurched for the front door and yanked it open. The bell chimed over her head.

"Miss McAllister... Don't run-" The sound of his voice was cut off as the door swung shut.

She stumbled out into the crowd of people. Their eyes followed her. They watched her.

Mel tried to fight off the sudden waves of exhaustion that overwhelmed her. Her legs gave out underneath her. She collapsed against the side of a building. The brick wall scratched painfully against her back, tearing through her shirt. As if she was underwater, her vision clouded.

_STAY AWAKE!_

A black car pulled up to the curb.

Moments later, Mycroft was crouching in front of her. His fingers prodded the pulse in her throat.

"Why...?" Mel chocked out. She tried to scramble away. Her eyes were wide.

The man watched her carefully. Mel's vision tunneled. Mycroft followed her calmly, hands in his pockets. The world started to spin. She gasped for air. Her muscles protested. She vaguely felt that she was being lifted into someone's arms. The ground fell away. Her head lolled. It was too heavy to support.

_So tired..._

"I can't let Moriarty find you. It would break poor Sherlock's heart."

The words were so hushed, she wasn't sure if they'd been actually said. The woman didn't have time to ponder that over. The black finally took over.

"Sleep now."

Then she drifted off into oblivion.

...

Her eyes opened to a soft, white light.

She was in an unfamiliar room. Light from the early morning sun filtered through deep scarlet drapes. Windows covered the entire wall, but they were covered by the drawn curtains. Mel groaned, reaching up to grasp the side of her aching head. She stopped. A strange tugging sensation pulled at the skin on the top of her hand. Looking down, the redhead saw there was a long needle imbedded in her hand. Clear tubs tangled around her arm. They hooked up to a IV drip. The dancer was propped up against a mountain of silk-covered feather pillows.

The decor of the room was gothic to say the least. The king-sized bed was covered in a blood red duvet. Gold embroidery was stitched across the surface. The satiny material slid across the woman's bare legs. There was furniture all around. An antique tables, a large desk, and a wardrobe. They were all carved intricately out of a deep brown wood. The walls were painted off-white with hints of gold in the crown molding.

Mel pulled the IV out of her hand slowly. She tossed it away from her weakly. It clattered across the section of hardwood floor that wasn't covered by the gold and scarlet Persian rug. The woman cradled her hand to her chest protectively as she kicked the duvet off of her body. Looking down, she saw that she was wearing a 1930's style nightgown. Again, it was made out of silk. The white material clung to her slight curves. The bodice was comprised of layered strips of lace.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Mel staggered to her feet. Her vision swam for a few beat before it cleared. Hunger gnawed at her empty belly.

_How long have I been asleep?_

The redhead swallowed but ended up coughing violently. It felt as though her throat had been invaded by cotton balls. Her legs were sluggish as she her way to the wardrobe. She used the columns of the bed frame to support her weight. She found a matching robe to the nightgown hanging inside the cabinet. It was made entirely of thin, delicate lace. She slipped it over her body and tied the satin sash around her waist. The sleeves were long and belled out as the elbows, flowing gracefully past her fingertips. The price tag was still attached. Mel's brain almost short-circuited when she looked at it.

**£4,209.96 **

_Holy. Shit._

Mel would've taken it off, but a thorough search of the room revealed that her previous outfit was missing. The dancer padded barefoot to the door. A small voice at the back of her mind was saying it was probably locked. Mycroft had poisoned her, after all. When she placed her hand on the polished golden latch, it clicked open softly. The door swung wide, revealing a long hallway. She closed the door behind her and took a tentative step into the hall. It was wide, with the floor fashioned completely of dark, polished wood. Renaissance-style paintings covered the deep red walls. When the woman focused on them, she found that they were all originals.

She combed her fingers through her hair. When they met little to no resistance, a pit formed in her stomach. Someone had taken the time to brush her hair. Her hair fell in a glossy curtain of waves down to the small of her back. The thought was incredibly unsettling.

The hall branched off at the top of a grand staircase. The banisters and stairs were solid marble. Mel descended the stairs cautiously. Soft classical music floated through the air.

Mel exhaled as calmly as possible when she reached the bottom of the stairs. The floor was cool under her bare feet. She tiptoed through what looked like a sitting room and a lounge. Everything looked ludicrously expensive. After getting lost in a bathroom- which was no doubt the size of her entire apartment on its own- Mel stumbled across another sitting room. There were large gold doors closing it off from another area. The redhead pushed through them.

It was a study. Or a library. The dancer couldn't tell which. The sheer size of the room was overwhelming. Books and papers were organized on monstrous shelves, rising high above until they touched the ceiling. More medieval paintings covered the walls. They all had themes of Christ and the church. The frames were ornate and no doubt real gold. The woman walked up a small set of stairs. Seated behind an massive mahogany writing desk was Mycroft Holmes. In his hand was a black fountain pen. He was writing on a large piece of stationary.

"Are you going to stand there all day, my dear? Or would you care to take a seat?"

Mel jumped. He hadn't looked up for even a moment.

_How-_?

"I have cameras covering every inch of this house, Miss McAllister," he stated, as if reading her mind. He finished his writing with a flourish- most likely a signature- and fitted the cap back on his pen. He folded the paper and placed it in a heavy envelope before placing it in a pile at the edge of his desk. Mycroft looked up and beckoned her forward. "Come. I promise I won't bite."

The woman cringed but walked forward. She sat in one of the two armchairs facing his desk, perching herself on the very edge. "Forgive me if I don't believe you," she breathed.

The man let out a bark of laughter. "Sherlock did say that you were clever."

Her brows knitted. "No he didn't." John had made her aware of the childish feud between the brothers. They didn't speak with one another unless it was necessary.

The humor faded slightly from his eyes. "No. He didn't."

Awkward silence fell between them.

"You drugged me." It was more of a statement than an accusation.

Mycroft pressed the palms of his hands together. "Yes. I believe that fact was clear."

Mel looked down at her hands. There was a deep purplish bruise from the IV on the back of her left hand. "You kidnapped me."

"Again. Obvious."

"And you brought me to your house."

"Yes."

"You can't just _do _this to people!" She cried, shooting a deadly glare at Mycroft.

"You refused to accompany me the easy way." He smirked and leaned back in his chair. He spread his hands wide, palms up. "And you may leave whenever you wish. You are in no way being held prisoner." He paused, just letting his words just hang in the air. "But may I remind you, there will be a raging murderer after you for the next seventeen hours if you choose to leave."

She watched him for a couple of beats. "I could call the police."

He met her gaze easily. "I _am_ the police, my dear."

That stopped her.

"I could scream."

Mycroft had the audacity to roll his eyes. "No one would hear you. This estate stretches over hundreds of acres."

Mel swallowed and tried to think logically. "Why did you kidnap me?"

"I _brought _you here," he emphasized the word heavily, glaring at her from behind his desk. "-because I care for my brother."

_I can't let Moriarty find you. It would break poor Sherlock's heart. _

"You... love him. In your own twisted way, you truly love him," she breathed out in awe.

Mycroft's thin lips pulled into a tight smile. "Of course." He stood from his leather armchair. Hands in the front pockets of his pinstriped trousers, the man meandered around to the front of his desk and sat up on the edge. He sighed tiredly. "I worry about him, Miss McAllister."

Taking in his stiff posture and the wrinkles around his features, Mel realized he was telling the truth.

"I can tell."

Their gazes met for a long moment.

Finally, Mycroft clapped his hands and stood- effectively ending the conversation. "I gather you'd like something to eat. I had Maria buy some things from the market."

"Maria?"

"The housekeeper," he elaborated, offering a hand to her. She took it and Mycroft linked their arms together.

Mel felt his stare on her as they exited the study. "What?"

He paused, as if wondering whether or not he should answer her. "You look stunning. I'm glad the measurements I gave the shopkeeper were correct."

The redhead rolled her eyes, brushing off the compliment. "You're a Holmes. I don't think you could be wrong even if you tried." She paused. "You spent all that money on me... why?"

Mycroft chuckled, leading her into a large modern-style kitchen. "So many questions-"

"Don't change the subject," the woman chided. "_Why_?"

Her patience was growing thin.

The man shrugged as he walked to the stove. He turned one of the burners on before reaching into a cabinet to pull out a kettle. It was a peculiar scene, seeing the authoritative man going about, making a cup of tea for her. When he was done, he placed a delicate- hand painted- teacup on the counter. Mel climbed up onto one of the barstools and took the cup, enjoying the heat against her frigid hands. When she looked up, the dancer saw that Mycroft was sipping from a cup of his own, looking over at her.

She raised a brow. "Well?"

He sighed, placing the teacup on the countertop. "Sherlock... he-" Mycroft sighed exasperatedly. "-Won't be _pleased_ after he finds out what I've done."

"-That you drugged and kidnapped me."

The man scoffed. "Oh, get over it, will you? I'm keeping you away from Moriarty. That's all that matters."

"So all of this- the clothes, the room- it's your way of softening the blow when he finds out. Perhaps he won't be as angry with you if he knows you took care of me."

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder. "In a way, I suppose that would be accurate."

Mel hid her grin behind her cup as she took a long sip. She swallowed before replying, savouring the heat of the tea as it slid down her throat. "Does he know I'm here?"

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock."

"Ah." He took a drink, avoiding her eyes. "Not _exactly..._"

Mel place her cup down and crossed her arms. "And what _exactly_ have you told him?"

Mycroft swallowed. His Adam's Apple bobbed. "I haven't... specifically... told him that you're with me... Or anything..."

The woman's mouth popped open. "Are you serious?"

His lips flattened into a straight line. "I rarely 'joke', Miss McAllister."

She laughed sardonically. A rough hand rifled through her hair. "So I've basically dropped off the face of the earth, and you haven't even told him I'm alright?" The redhead pushed the cup away from her, stomach knotting. She slipped off the stool, shaking her head.

Mycroft walked around the counter and grasped her wrist. He placed a small device in her hand. Mel looked down. It was her cell phone.

"I had one of my men take out the tracking capability and no one will be able to hack your calls or messages."

Mel exhaled tiredly. "Thank you, Mycroft."

He nodded, pulling away. A foreign emotion flickered through his pale gaze but it was gone before Mel could place it. The man took his teacup and sauntered to the doors. "Sorry. I have to get back to work." He stopped to take a quick drink. "Do text my brother back. He's being insufferable. Whatever you do, tell him nothing about where you are."

Mycroft disappeared, most likely to return to his office.

The redhead smiled softly and bit her lip. She checked her phone.

**_56 NEW TEXT MESSAGES_**

Her jaw dropped.

**3:59 PM**

**I'm on the bus with John. Where are you?**

**_-_****SH**

**...**

**4:03 PM**

**That was rude Melina. **

**-SH**

**...**

Mel snorted, strolling out of the kitchen. She walked into one of the bathrooms she'd found on her search for Mycroft and locked the door. A large porcelain clawfoot tub sat in the center of the room. Polished gold fixtures gleamed in the light. She untied the satin sash holding her robe in place and let the lace fall from her body. The woman carefully laid it over the sink. Mel glanced up, catching herself in the mirror.

She looked lovely. It was peculiar. Someone had definitely brushed her hair, possibly even styled it with a curling iron. It was even possible that her makeup had been done while she was unconscious. The thought was... creepy. It made her feel dirty. Violated.

_I need a bath. _

Mel went back to reading the text messages.

**4:10 PM**

**COME BACK TO THE LAB IMMEDIATELY**

**-SH**

**...**

**5:09 PM**

**Please come back. Sherlock's going mental. **

**-JW**

**...**

The rest of the messages carried on, switching off between Sherlock and John, practically begging her to come back. Sighing, Mel texted a swift message to Sherlock.

**Please don't worry. I'm safe. I'll come back when I can. **

**-MM**

She sent it immediately and placed the phone on the sink. The woman slipped the thin straps of her nightgown off her shoulders. The material pooled around her ankles. She stepped out of it and hung it up like the robe.

Suddenly her phone started ringing. Mel jumped.

_Well... that didn't take very long..._

Swallowing, she picked up the mobile and answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Melina...?" The resounding baritone of the man's voice sounded so different. It sounded small. He seemed almost... afraid.

Tears pricked her eyes thinking about the strong consulting detective in that way. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry-"

"Where are you?" He interrupted, his voice gaining strength. "Are you alright?"

Mel leaned against the cool sink. "I can't say, but I'm fine."

"Why can't you tell me?" Sherlock asked softly. It was so peculiar to hear him like that. He was usually rough. For people who weren't used to his antics, they would percieve the man as unkind.

"I-" She cut herself off, remembering what Mycroft told her.

"Is there someone there with you? Is it-"

"Moriarty?" The dancer ventured, cutting him off. "No, he hasn't found me. All you need to know is that I'm safe."

Sherlock went quiet for a moment. "How do you know about Moriarty?" His tone was icy.

_Shit._

"Uh... Mrs. Hudson. We had tea and she told me about your cases."

_Nice save, McAllister._

He was silent for a several beats too long. "How to I know he's not making you say these things? That this isn't part of his game-"

Mel pulled the phone away from ear. She exhaled tiredly, attempting to compose herself. She brought the mobile back to her ear. "Would it make you feel better if I took a picture and sent it to you?"

_If you take a picture, he'll figure out where you are! _

He paused. "Yes. That would solidify your claims."

Sighing, Mel turned. She was naked and ready for her bath. Taking a few moments, she slipped back into the nightgown. It left very little to the imagination- hugging her curves- but it was literally better than nothing.

She took the picture quickly, taking care to not have any recognizable markings in the shot. The woman sent it to the detective immediately and picked up the call again.

"Sorry I took so long. Had to put on some clothes." She threw a hand over her mouth but it was too late.

Sherlock's deep chuckle filtered through the phone, warming the redhead to her very core. "I see," he hummed, almost seductively. The changing of his rapid-fire emotions were giving her whiplash.

"That's- you weren't supposed to know that..." She stuttered.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Melina."

The woman gasped. "_Sherlock_!"

His laugh trailed off as a message alert sounded on his side of the phone.

Melina waited several minutes, but he didn't say anything.

"Sherlock? You still there?"

The man clear his throat and swallowed audibly.

She grinned victoriously. "Feel better now?"

"Y-yes."

She bit her lip. "Do you like the picture?"

Sherlock exhaled heavily. "Yes. I see from the picture that you're biting your lip again." Mel's heart thumped loudly. "You know what that does to me, Melina." His voice was gravelly. The woman shivered.

"Well I'm glad that made you feel better. I'm going to go have a bath."

She could almost hear him smiling over the phone. "Alright. Perhaps you could take another picture for me...?"

The blush roared in her cheeks.

Sherlock Holmes was _flirting_.

"There's no way. Sorry." The woman paused as a thought suddenly came to her. "Well... maybe you could go have a bath too. That way, it will almost be like we're together." Her teeth pulled at her full bottom lip. It still throbbed from when she bit it back at the lab.

She heard the detective grunt softly. "I can't." He stopped. "The bomber has another victim." The playfulness was gone from his tone.

Mel frowned. "How many has there been now?"

"This is the second."

The woman sighed. "Alright. Be careful... for me."

Sherlock exhaled. Silence settled. She wondered if he was going to hang up.

"Always," he whispered, deep and throaty. The woman's heart leaped to her throat.

A low click filled the speaker, signalling that he'd hung up.

Mel couldn't help the grin that stretched across her lips.

She got ready once more for her bath, stripping off the gown. The dancer found a large fluffy towel in a cabinet against the wall. She also located bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a razor and a small container of bath bubbles.

_Mycroft bought this all for you..._

The thought was odd to her, but she forced it from her mind. She filled the tub up to the top with steaming hot water and bubbles. She slipped in. A loud moan fell from her lips.

_Maybe staying here won't be as bad as I thought..._

Mel brushed the thought away immediately. Soon, her mind was filled with images of Sherlock. She only wished they were the real thing.

* * *

**BAD MYCROFT. _BAD. _You can't just do that to people! lol**

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! **

**I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great day!**


	10. Chapter 10: Omelets and Visitors

**Hello my darlings! I wrote a new chapter for you xD Here are my responses to your reviews: **

...

**fandomenforcer:** Yeah. The Sherlock in my head is a sexy womanizer. Oh well... ;D

**harliesue:** Thank you my dear! I hope you will approve of this chapter as well. Thanks for continuing to review!

**watergoddesskasey:** Haha thank you :)

**Max:** Yeah. Mycroft was being an ass. In a way, he just really cares about Sherlock.

**rycbar15:** Thank you!

**Gwilwillith:** Merci! I'm always nervous when I start writing for a new fandom, but the Sherlock fans have been lovely :) Thank you for the review!

**Precilla:** Thank you my dear!

**LadyShadows410:** Thank you so much! All of your questions will be answered in this chapter, not to worry!

**Sherlocklover:** Thank you for all nine of your kind reviews!

**Slyork1991:** Ask and you shall receive ;)

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Haha I agree with the chemistry. I just write what I would want- or not want, in the case of Mycroft being a complete dollop-head- to happen to myself. No problem! Your story is quite good! Thank you for reviewing!

**AshleyV6661:** Thank you so much for the sweet review! Here's a new chapter for you :)

...

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel.**

* * *

Mel stepped into the tub gingerly, one foot at a time. It was hot- bordering on scalding. She pushed the burn from her mind, knowing that it would help her forget the previous day. The woman laid down in the porcelain tub. A moan of pleasure fell from her lips as the sensation of the heat and fragrant bubbles lapped at her skin.  
Scents of exotic fruit floated through the air.

Contented sighs pulled from her slight frame. Long, loose curls swirled in the water as she started to sink lower into its depths. Her slim legs came up, ankles resting on the tub's edge. They were crossed across one another lazily. Mel glanced at her feet. She saw her scars and calluses from dancing. She swallowed the odd lump that formed in her throat.

She missed dancing. The fluidity of the movement. Just releasing the inhibition of thought and allowing a crescendo to be the only thing that mattered Mel wanted to feel the rush of music. Just let it move her until her blood pulsed in time with the bass.  
She wanted to drown out the chatter of her mind with her art. Her unending memories were always tribulations to behold.

What some believed to be a gift- namely Sherlock- the woman had more difficulties with.  
To notice every single quality of a random person passing on the street. To deduce something from their past and know she shouldn't open her mouth to point out an error or a flaw. It was restricting and excruciating.

Sherlock was parallel to her in so many ways. They both had the ability to notice things and form a history and a case. They were clever- obnoxiously so, to most.  
But they were different in so many ways. The consulting detective was meticulous and calculating. Emotion did not have any relevance. Trivial matters and facts were deleted from his mind systematically, as if the man was a computer hard drive.  
Mel, on the other hand, thought herself to be a very emotionally driven person. She was smart- yes- but it never overshadowed her human traits. The dancer didn't have the luxury of deleting anything from her memory. She could re-visit every moment like it was a snapshot in history.

Thinking about the handsome detective made her miss him even more. It'd been less than two days and she was itching to see him again. She felt like a drug addict.

Those lips of his are certainly like a drug, aren't they?

Mel missed his kisses. He stole the breath from her lungs every time, leaving her with a lightheaded rush. His long, slim fingers- so used to pulling at the strings on his bow- played her like an instrument. He would tug her hair, only a step away from violence, so her lips would be easier for him to reach; so his lips would slant at another angle over hers. Those large hands would flex against her lower back, pressing her impossibly closer.

Mel was utterly addicted to Sherlock Holmes.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she quickly grabbed the shampoo and poured some in the palm of her hand. The scent of strawberries joined the symphony of the expensive bubbles. Humming quietly under her breath, The redhead went through the motions of scrubbing her hair thoroughly. After realizing that someone had done her makeup and styled her hair while she slept, Mel took extra care to lather the suds into her scalp.  
She ducked under the water rinsed the shampoo away. The bubbles swirled tantalizingly around her.  
She put the conditioner in her hair and tied it in a quick knot to let the nutrition sink in. Its scent matched the shampoo.

The woman took her time shaving. The water had turned cold by the time she finished. She rinsed off one last time and stepped out of the tub, grabbing the towel from the rack nearby. She drained the water and dried herself thoroughly. The dancer's slender fingers methodically combed through her long hair and styled it in a loose plait down her back.

Remembering that the woman had no other clothing, she reluctantly pulled the nightgown on once more and fastened the lace robe over top with the satin sash.

She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text off to John.

**I miss you boys and I'll hopefully see you soon. **

The woman paused, thinking about what else she should say.

**And I'm sorry for what I did on the bus. I never meant to waste time finding that woman. **

**-MM**

Singing softly under her breath, Mel exited the large bathroom. Billowing clouds of steam escaped into the hall. As she sent the message, her stomach growled with surprising ferocity. Since it'd been several days since the woman had eaten any sort of solid food, she walked back to the kitchen. The hardwood and marble floor was chilly against her bare feet.

The mobile vibrated in her hand.

**11:13 AM**

**MY GOD MELINA. YOU ARE GIVING SHERLOCK A BLOODY HEART ATTACK. **

**HE'S COMPOSING SAD MUSIC. **

**JUST COME HOME. **

**_-_****JW**

...

**11: 14 AM**

**Well it's a good thing you're a doctor ;)**

**-MM**

**...**

**11:14 AM**

**DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO BE LIKE THAT RIGHT NOW. I'M FURIOUS WITH YOU.**

**-JW**

**...**

Mel frowned. She didn't think the army doctor had the ability to get angry. He had the patience of a saint. Realizing she hadn't replied, the dancer typed an answer hastily.

**11:16 AM **

**Please don't be upset with me. I'm doing this to keep Sherlock safe. **

**-MM **

**...**

She slid her phone shut and placed it on the marble counter before she went on the hunt for something to eat.

When the dancer opened the fridge, she found that it was packed- unlike Sherlock's. Biting her bottom lip, she pulled out the carton of eggs, a stick of butter, a jug of milk, a green pepper, an onion, and cheese. The phone alerted that she'd received another text. She ignored it and placed the ingredients on the island. Moving through the kitchen gracefully, the redhead found a cutting board, a small bowl, a knife block and a grater for the cheese.

Mel grabbed the pepper and took a small knife from the wooden block. She quickly cleaned the white seeds and insides from the vegetable and tossed them into the waste bin she found under the sink. She rinsed the pepper off and placed it back on the cutting board. The redhead grabbed a large dicing knife and started to cut up the vegetables. She minced them until they were quite fine. The mobile vibrated against the marble counter, taking her by surprise. The knife barely missed slicing into her fingers. Mel exhaled shakily and put the utensil down.

_You know it's time to call it quits when you almost maim yourself, _the dancer thought, pressed a calming hand to her forehead. A breathy laugh fell from her lips at the narrow escape from a mishap.

She took the large section of Grana Padano cheese and grated it quickly. When there was enough shredded, the woman danced over to the metal bowl. She cracked four eggs inside and added a splash of milk.

Her phone buzzed thrice more, making the woman roll her eyes skyward. _Impatient males_.

Finding a whisk in one of the many sliding cabinets, the woman mixed the ingredients in the bowl together. She uncovered a set of salt and pepper grinders next to the stove and added the seasonings to the egg solution. The redhead padded over to the stove and placed a large skillet on a burner, turning up the heat. Cutting a small amount of the butter from the stick, Mel placed it inside the hot frying pan and watched as it sizzled. Bubbles formed around the yellow substance.

Her mobile started to ring.

Knowing if she went to answer the call the butter would burn, she groaned and grabbed the egg mixture. If it was important, they would call back.

And they did. Again. And again.

And again.

Finally, Mel had two finished omelets garnished and fixed onto plates.

"Mycroft!" She called loudly, walking the food over to the bar. "I made omelets!-" The woman glanced up and gasped. Thankfully the plates were already over the marble counter- they fell the rest of the distance and clattered noisily against the surface. "Jesus Christ, Mycroft! What the hell-" The elder Holmes- who'd was unexpectedly standing in the doorway- stalked to the bar and climbed up on one of the stools. He reached over the counter and opened one of the drawers, bumping Mel's hip. She jumped away immediately. Mycroft retrieved two sets of cutlery and rolled the door shut. He passed one to her, not bothering to look up as he slid his plate closer.

Mel observed the man carefully and attempted to figure out the source for his bizarre appearance.

_How long had he been standing there?_

Mycroft tucked into his omelet with a quiet noise of appreciation. He sliced his knife skillfully through the meal. Hot cheese oozed out. Smiling to himself, the man ate- every so often a content sigh fell from his lips.

A scowl marred the woman's delicate features. "You were already here."

"Hmm?"

Her arms came up to cross over her chest. "Before I called you. You were already here..." Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Were you _watching me_?"

The man kept his eyes focused on his plate. He exhaled quietly and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Pale fingers retrieved a silk red handkerchief and pressed it to his lips, wiping away a non-existent mess. "You should eat your food, my dear. It's getting cold."

She reached forward and yanked the handkerchief right out of his hand. "Answer me!"

He finally looked up, breathing out with no small amount of exasperation. "Please do not ruin this perfectly adequate meal with childish tribulations."

Mel's jaw dropped with an audible _pop. _"_Excuse _me_?_"

His pale eyes searched her features for a brief moment. "You're excused," he finally said before snatching back his square of blood-red silk, pinning the dancer with a cool stare. For some reason, the woman wasn't hungry any more. She slid her plate across to him, moments after he polished off his own. He looked up at her, blinking in surprise. "You are not hungry?"

Mel's lips pursed. "Not anymore."

He shrugged impenitently and dug in. She noticed that the man's table manners were impeccable, despite the speed at which he ate. It was as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

Her phone chimed again. Mel jumped. "Jesus..."

"You should answer it," Mycroft advised. Her eyes followed the man as he picked up her- now- half eaten plate and exited the kitchen, most likely to return to his study.

The redhead answered the call on the third ring. "Hello?" A loud sigh came from the speaker. "Hello?" She asked again, more forcefully this time. "Who is this?"

"Thank god..." The deep baritone breathed. He was relieved.

A shiver went down her spine. "Sherlock? Is everything alright-"

"Why the _hell_ didn't you answer your phone?" He was angry. No- the consulting detective was livid.

"I- I was cooking breakfast..." Mel whispered. She never liked when he was upset with her.

He was quiet for a long moment.

The redhead swallowed. "Has something happened?" She pondered tentatively.

Sherlock expelled another sigh. "It was just something the bomber said. Or I suppose what he made the blind woman say whose strapped to a bomb."

"There's another?"

"Obviously," the voice scoffed condescendingly. "The others weren't_ blind_."

His suddenly sharp tongue took her aback. "Oh. Alright. I guess I'll leave you to it." She moved to hang up, but she heard Sherlock cry out, telling her to "Wait". Crossing her arms over her chest, Mel leaned against the counter. She didn't appreciate his attitude, especially after everything she was doing for him.

"He..." Sherlock paused. The woman placed the phone back to her ear. "He says that he, 'likes to watch me dance'."

Mel's heart stuttered. A pit formed in her stomach and twisted uncomfortably, quickly tampering any hunger she might've had earlier. "Is that why you called me?" Her mind couldn't help but think about the similarities to the note Jim gave her.

"Yes," he exhaled. "I believe he may come after you next."

"It's Moriarty, isn't it?"

Another sigh. "I'm almost absolutely certain, yes." Mel pulled away from the phone and pressed it against her forehead. "Are you still there, Melina?"

She brought it to her ear once more. "Y-yeah I'm still here, Sherlock." She listened to his heavy breathing in the speaker and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear that fell from the braid.

"I have the urge to kiss you."

The words were so soft that the dancer wondered if they were meant to be spoken. "You can, and you will. Just not now."

Another sigh came from the speaker, this one much more frustrated. "I'm an impatient man, Miss. McAllister."

"I'm most certainly aware, Mr. Holmes," she smiled softly. "I'll talk to you later... I miss you."

Without waiting for an answer, Mel disconnected the call. She held the phone to her lips for a long pause before tearing it away.

**_3 NEW TEXT MESSAGES_**

**11:20 AM**

**I know. I'm sorry. It's probably for the best that you're away from all this. **

**_-_****JW**

The next two were from Sherlock, ordering her to call. She deleted them quickly and set to cleaning up the kitchen. The dull ache of hunger in her belly had been replaced by a coil of worry. When all the ingredients were back in the fridge, Mel washed the dishes and left them to dry on the rack.

Her feet took her back up the marble and gold steps to her room. Her room was exactly the way she left it- IV and drip still near the bedside table. The blankets and duvet were rumpled and undone. Soon she was under the covers of the monstrous bed, hiding from the reality that was happening outside of the safety of Mycroft's estate. Sleep came quickly and crashed over her like a tidal wave.

...

Mel woke to the sound of yelling. Her brow creased as drowsiness clouded her mind. The room was dark. The soft light of the moon glowed through the curtains.

"_You can't be here_!" Mycroft's voice hissed from down the hall. "There's still an hour-"

There were heavy, stomping footsteps against the hardwood floorboards. They were approaching her room. The woman yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Get out of my way, Mycroft. My mind is finding very few objections to punching you in the face at the moment."

There was a long pause. "Is that the way you act when someone tries to help you?" His voice was strained.

The woman could see shadows right outside the door. She sat up in the bed.

"_This_ is how I act when someone _takes what's mine_," the second voice spat possessively.

The door swung open with a loud _bang_. Bright yellow light blinded her. A hand came up to shield her eyes.

She whimpered quietly. "What's going on?" There was a dark figure standing in the doorway with Mycroft. A long coat swirled around the body. "Who's there?"

The figure rounded on Mycroft. "What the hell have you done to her?"

The voice was so familiar. "Sherlock?" She asked sleepily. Her head swam. "You shouldn't be here..."

"That's what _I _was trying to tell him!"

"_Oh do shut up, Mycroft._" The consulting detective snapped. "What did you do?" The man entered the room. His eyes immediately turned to the IV drip. The expression on his face was the epitome of rage. "YOU DRUGGED HER?!" He roared, making the woman jump. His hands were bunched into fists as his sides. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked under his left eye.

Suddenly, he whirled around and grabbed his brother by the throat. He slammed the man against the wall, causing his head to smack against it with a dull _thud_.

"Sherlock!" The woman cried out. "Stop!"

_I've never seen him so violent before... _

It was terrifying.

He didn't answer. He just shook his head, making his dark curls bounce wildly. Mycroft gasped for breath and clawed at the gloved fingers around his throat. His brother lifted him from the ground.

Mel slid out of the bed. The material of her nightgown brushed the ground as her feet met the cool wood panels of the floor. She approached the handsome man carefully. Her hand tentatively reached for him. Delicate fingers brushed his side. He tensed immediately. A sharp inhale of breath sounded through the room.

"Please... Sherlock..." She begged, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against the back of his wool coat. "Let him go."

"He hurt you. Kidnapped you. _Drugged you._.." The man scoffed. "I would kill him for only one of those offenses."

Mel was struck by the honesty in his harsh words. "But he kept me _safe._" She implored the man to understand. She went up on the tips of her toes and kissed the back of his neck. "Come lay down with me," she whispered against his flesh. She felt him shudder. "Come to bed, Mr. Holmes."

Letting out a shaky breath, the younger brother dropped his hold.

Mycroft gasped for air as he fell back against the wall. His face was almost purple in the dim light. Several beats later, he chuckled and straightened his tie. "I'm assuming you're not speaking to me, my dear," he stated drily. "Even though it is quite disappointing-"

Mel couldn't help the bile that rose at the back of her throat. "Please shut the door on your way out, Mycroft." He smirked and did just that, leaving the couple in complete darkness.

The dancer sighed and leaned into the man, letting her forehead rest against his back. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Slowly, she pulled the wool coat from his body. She let it fall to the floor. It pooled in the small place between them. The man was an immobile statue. Mel slowly tugged the leather gloves from his hands, leaving them bare for her touch. Her fingers traced the knuckles in his slim fingers. Her nails gently grazed from the callused pads of his fingers to the man's large palms.

"Come to bed with me, Sherlock..."

Sherlock turned around, breaking their connection. He looked down at her with an unfathomable gaze she couldn't place. The glow of the consulting detective's silvery-blue stare was not unlike the light coming through the window. Leaning up on the balls of her feet, Mel pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. His eyes fell shut as he exhaled with a shudder. The trail of her lips moved to just below his ear. Teeth grazed the lobe lightly.

The facade of stone cracked almost instantaneously. His hands were suddenly on either side of her face, pulling her up to him. He swooped down, closing the remaining distance between them. Mel mind stopped working the instant his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was hard and unyielding. It contained all of the frustration and anger flowing through him. His hands traveled to the back of her head, holding her possessively against the hard line of his body. His tongue begged for entrance at the seam of her lips. Mel's fingers threaded in the man's silky curls. She tugged roughly and tilted her head to the side, allowing the kiss to deepen. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned but Sherlock quickly swallowed the noise. He consumed all semblance of thought the redhead had left. She was swept up in the passion. Sherlock's fingers gripped the woman's braid and jerked sharply. Mel gasped at the sudden pain- head tilting back out of its own accord. The kiss heated. It was filled with teeth and tongue.

They came up for air, pulling away from each other.

Mel was left gasping. Her burning lungs gulped the air in greedily. Her head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. When she found her bearings, she looked up at the handsome detective. Sherlock's gaze was busy ravaging her form, taking in the satin, silk and lace. His pupils were so large, they swallowed the entire ring of beautiful, pale iris.

The man reached a hand out. Mel shivered as his fingers grazed her waist before clasping around the satin tie of the robe. With one sharp tug, the lace came undone. His hands came up to brush the material from her shoulders, caressing her bare neck in the process. The expensive material pooled on the floor. Sherlock groaned. The sound rumbled from his chest.

"You're the most gorgeous creature I've ever set eyes on," he breathed, watching her with lust-filled eyes.

The redhead flushed and shyly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looking up at the handsome man from under her lashes. Her hands found the button of his blazer in the dim light and unfastened it. Sherlock's gaze watched her movements as she slipped it from his body, leaving him in only his white button-down and black slacks. The beautiful, elegant creature moved forward tantalizingly. Her fingers didn't waver as she undid the first black button of his shirt. His hands snatch them before they could move onto the next, forming unbreakable manacles around her wrists. She looked up at him in confusion. The area between her brows creased. The man couldn't resist the temptation of kissing it. Her hot breath brushed against the bare skin of his chest. She smelled of strawberries.

He groaned softly. "What are you doing to me, Melina?"

She wasn't sure how to respond to that. "S-sorry-"

"Even your scent is more enticing than any drug on this planet..." He breathed her skin. Even without perfume, she smelled of vanilla and roses. "I have not picked up a single cigarette since the day I met you." His nose trailed down to the hollow of her throat. "Did you know that, Miss. McAllister?" He felt her shiver against his touch.

Mel swallowed. Her heart was beating wildly. Her lower belly clenched. The rough grip around her wrists softened as he ran the pads of his thumbs along the sensitive flesh. Her face flushed. He was taking her pulse.

"Hmm..." He sighed. Lips pressed to her neck. "Your heart is beating very quickly, Melina." His mouth moved to her ear. "Why is that?"

"I-I..." She stuttered. Her brain was finding it hard to focus.

"Are you excited?" He kissed the corner of her mouth gently.

Mel gasped. "Y-yes."

"Do you want me?" Sherlock asked conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather.

"More than anything," she breathed with all the truth she could muster.

He released one of her wrists but quickly snatched it up in his other hand, shackling them both easily in his grasp. The man cupped her cheek with his free palm, brushing against her delicate cheekbone. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers. Mel couldn't help but feel how soft they were against hers. The kiss was deeper and more languid than the first. Their tongues tangled as they explored each other- just tasting and feeling. Grasping her backside, Sherlock lifted the beautiful woman into his arms. He was surprised by how light she was.

Mel gasped as she was lifted into the man's arms. Her back was suddenly pressed against the wall. His large hands tugged up the material of her silk nightgown. Callused fingers skimmed her thighs. Without the material restricting her movements, the dancer slid her legs around his waist, linking her ankles at his lower back. His large hands flexed their hold against her backside, causing a unbidden moan to fall from her lips. She could feel Sherlock's arousal nestled intimately against her. The only barrier between them was the thin material of the man's slacks. Mel could feel the wet heat pool between her thighs. He pinned her against the wall with his hips as his teeth moved to nibble her full bottom lip.

"Please... Sherlock-" Her words were cut off as he gave a sudden shallow thrust against her. Her strangled cry was dampened as the man placed his mouth swiftly over hers.

He shushed her under his breath. "Patience, love..."

The pet name shook Mel to her core.

Then she collapsed.

The lips pulled away. "Melina?" His voice was alarmed as the woman went limp in his arms. He quickly carried her to the bed and deposited her delicately onto the rumpled sheets. She was already coming around.

"You... made... me... faint..." She accused softly. Her eyes searched for him. Sherlock took off his shoes and crawled into the bed with her. He propped himself up on the pillows and helped Mel slip under the duvet. She could see the satisfied grin on his face, even in the darkness. The redhead slapped his chest weakly. He caught it and pressed a sweet kiss to her palm. The redhead could feel is lips smiling against her hand. "You're so pleased with yourself."

"Yes," he admitted unabashedly. "You should sleep. There's no telling what that drug did to your system." His jaw clenched.

Mel sighed. "I haven't eaten in days. I probably have..." An enormous yawn cut off her words. "... really low blood sugar."

Sherlock chuckled and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Sleep, love. We'll feed you when you wake up at a more reasonable hour this morning."

Mel hummed contentedly and closed her eyes. She felt Sherlock's strong arms wrap around her and tug her into his body. She ended up laying on him. Her head turned slightly... searching. He knew what the woman was after. His lips descended and pressed against hers gently.

"Thanks."

His mouthed pressed softly against hers once more. "You're most certainly welcome, Melina."

"Goodnight, Sherlock," she murmured, not bothering to fight the waves of unconsciousness that were descending.

"Sleep, love."

There was the name again.

_Love. _

Mel fell asleep with a soft smile curling her lips.

* * *

**Well there you have it! What did you think?**

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. **

**Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	11. Chapter 11: Realization

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

**...**

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Oh darling, if you had feels last time, you better watch yourself on this chapter. I have that little bubble of tears in my throat, and I'm the one who wrote it. I hope that means I'm doing the romantic scenes correctly! Haha thanks for the review once again!

**harliesue: **Hello once again my dear! I do believe that you are one of my most loyal reviewers now. If I had a ribbon, I'd most certainly give it to you ;D Squealing is always perfectly fine on my stories. This here? It's a judgement-free zone! So feel free to freak out as much as you want. Thank you so much for staying with me through this journey!

**fandomenforcer: **Three words: Thanks for reviewing! x)

**Slyork1991: **Thank you, my dear!

**Gwilwillith: **Merci beaucoup! :D

**Bensona15962: **Thank you for all ten of your reviews. They were incredibly sweet.

**Guests 1,2,3: **Thank you for reading!

**Cillathakilla: **Thank you for the sweet words, my dear. They have warmed my heart. Have a lovely day!

**Majin Micha: **"Type your review for this chapter here..." Thanks for pressing the button to review! Hahaha I suppose that means you read the chapter. Thanks!

**C. L. LaCroix: **Goodness me, where should I start... First, I must say that your review made me grin like a fool. Let's just get that fact out of the way right now. I can never say thank you enough for your sweet words. When I first started this story, I didn't know if anyone was going to read it. I was nervous and tentative... and I found myself having these weird heart palpitations every time I received a review (which is probably not a healthy form of anxiety, but oh well). I am pleased that you have picked up on all of the things I've been working so hard to perfect in this story. I know it has flaws, but it's my baby, and I can't help but love it. I could never dismiss your words as 'a bunch of sweetened bullshit', as you so eloquently put it ;) Thank you for liking Mel, for liking my writing style, for appreciating the romance... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope that you continue to enjoy the story, and that I won't dash your high expectations away with my writing. I am only human, after all xD

**BregoAction: **Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Regin: **Your wish is my command, here is another update :)

**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

Light filled the room, coaxing Mel from the deepest sleep she'd had in years. She stretched her body and listened to the cracking of her joints. She shifted her weight on the mattress and felt a heavy weight over her waist. Looking down, the redhead saw an arm wrapped tightly around her. The heat from the man's body pressed against her back was akin to that of the sun- much too hot, but altogether pleasurable. The scent of his cologne caused the muscles in her stomach to clench.

Mel turned carefully, careful not to wake the man clinging to her. The famous Sherlock Holmes was fast asleep. She glanced down at the arm that held her so securely, and she began to run her fingertips up his arm. Through the night, the sleeves of the white dress shirt had rolled up to his elbows- revealing perfectly sculpted forearms. The muscles that were normally taught and tense, were lax with sleep. She trailed her fingernails over the visible veins under his pale flesh. The alabaster skin was flawless.

A mumbled groan fell from Sherlock's lips. He looked so peaceful; the lines that usually creased his brow were gone and his mouth was slightly agape as it was completely relaxed. He didn't snore, but deep pulls of air cycled through his lungs. His lovely face looked years younger- untroubled in sleep. His sculpted lips were parted slightly and the line of his jaw was unclenched. The man's dark curls was a glorious halo around his perfect features.

Mel smiled softly as she studied his features. His chin, upper lip and square jaw were covered in a fine layer of stubble- something the woman had never seen before that moment. She couldn't decide what her favorite part was. His looks- undoubtedly beautiful, or his mind- equally stunning. Mel ran a finger lightly down the bridge of his nose. His skin was soft under her touch as she grazed the very tip, moving down to trace the outline of his mouth. The cupids bow was pronounced and symmetrical. His lips were pale, unlike when they kissed the night before. Mel flushed as the memory flitted through her mind.

Sherlock had frightened her when his hands were around Mycroft's neck. There was a small part of her that feared him. It was the little girl from all those years ago. She was still hiding under her bed, waiting for her dad to come find her. The consulting detective brought back all of those buried memories.

But there was something so satisfying-so arousing- seeing the man come through the door for her. His need to protect her.

It was an odd mixture of emotion.

_Last night, if I hadn't have fainted, would I have given myself to him?_ The sudden thought sent equal jolts of trepidation, unease, and excitement pulsing through her blood.

Leaning forward, the redhead pressed her lips to his. They were impossibly soft under her ministrations. She coaxed his lower lip for several moments, pecking it with closed mouth kisses. Seconds later, Mel registered that the beating of his pulse had increased in speed. A quiet moan sounded from the back of his throat. Then his lips were moving in tandum with hers.

Mel looked up to find his eyes now open and staring at her, a subtle smirk gracing his pale lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked quietly, his voice husky with sleep. Mel squirmed in the bed as the memories of last night floated through her mind; as she thought about what could've happened.

"Immensely," Mel breathed, brushing the thoughts away. She moved to get out of the bed, but Sherlock's arms tightened around her. The satin sheets glided across her bare legs where the nightgown had ridden up.

"I believe that might be my favorite way to wake up now.I'll require several tests to validate this fact..." His smirk grew as he pulled the woman even closer to him and captured her lips.

After several moments of heated kissing, the dancer pulled away, gasping for air. "Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we're moving too fast?" She asked tentatively.

He was nipping at her collarbone. "In my opinion, we're moving at a perfectly adequate speed this morning." His talented tongue laved the sting away. "Perhaps a faster one would be sufficient?"

"No," she sighed as his large hands took her hips and ground her into his morning erection. Despite her loud moan, Mel broke his hold around her and rolled to the opposite side of the bed.

The man raised a brow. "Is this a game connected to the act of foreplay?" He proceeded to crawl sensually over to her, a glorious crooked smile in place.

The woman's eyes went wide. "Sherlock, no- this is what I mean!" She breathed a sigh of relief when the man paused. The consulting detective sat up immediately- humor void from his face. The steely mask was in place once more. "We've only been together for what- a month now?" She continued, taking a calming breath. "I don't know if I'm ready for-"

"Intercourse," Sherlock cut her off, inclining his head in understanding. Mel flushed and ducked into the comforter to hide her vibrantly colored face. "On average," he started, "John is already sexually active with-"

She covered her hands over her ears. "Oh Lord have mercy, I do not need to hear about John's sex life."

"Of course not," the man muttered, watching her carefully. "You know that I have not been with another in that way either."

Mel peaked up at him through her thick lashes. "You... haven't...?" Her heart stuttered momentarily before picking up- double time. It pounded rapidly against her ribcage.

"I told you the I wasn't in a relationship before," Sherlock said, pursing his lips. "Why did you not come to the conclusion that-"

"You're just..." She waved over the length of his body. "...You, Sherlock. You're handsome and brilliant..."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly ruffling his tousled curls. "This makes you believe that I would've had a sexual partner before you?"

The blush was back in full force. "Well... yes..."

"You _are _quite young. Perhaps it would be best to wait." Sherlock sighed as he slowly rolled out of bed.

Equal parts of disappointment and relief flooded the woman. She paused. "Wait... How old are you, Sherlock?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps eleven years older than you, give or take several months." His pale blue eyes watched her warily.

_Why have you never considered his age before? That's a large gap..._

His pale blue eyes watched her carefully. "Does my age... Bother you, Melina?"

She scowled. "No, of course not." And it didn't. It was just a surprise.

"Good."

Mel's giggles broke through the tension between them.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I do not see what is so amusing."

Her laughter cut off immediately. The heat in his gaze was a flame licking at her skin. She wrapped the duvet tighter around her. "You're starting to sound like John, that's all." The redhead was thankful that her voice barely wavered.

"God forbid." Sherlock muttered as he walked around the bed. He picked up his discarded articles of clothing from the night before and started to cover up his body. The woman despaired at the loss of his bare forearms.

_You're the one who said we should slow down... _The woman shoved the sudden regret away from her mind and slipped off the bed. Sherlock's eyes lingered before he turned away. He offered his wool coat and helped her into it. His callused fingers paused as they grazed the back of her neck as he righted the collar of the jacket. Memories of the kiss in the rain flooded the woman's memory, causing her to blush. Sherlock tilted his head to the side inquisitively- watching as the color filled her cheeks. He smirked.

"Is it alright?"

"Hmm?"

"That I want to take this slow."

"It will be bearable." He mumbled petulantly under his breath.

Her brow creased. "It's not about you, you know that right? I care about you more than-"

"I'm aware," he sighed, cutting her off.

Mel was uncomfortable with the abruptness of his statement. She turned to face him. "You're upset." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I..." He looked as though he was struggling to find the correct wording. It was odd for someone so eloquent. "I thoroughly enjoyed our night together," he finally admitted. "I was hoping that it would happen again."

"So did I." Mel smiled. "I slept better than I have in years. We can sleep together... I'm fine with that. Just not, you know, _sleep _together. At least not quite yet." She stood on the tips of her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

A ragged breath came from his chest. It took all of his self control to break the connection and move away. "If you do not wish for me to take you at_ this very moment_, Melina," Sherlock punctuated every word with a feral growl, "I would strongly advise that we go downstairs." With that, the consulting detective exited the room, leaving the dancer in a stunned silence.

...

As it happened, Mycroft had a car waiting for them at the front doors. The man himself didn't show- either too upset by the previous evening, or he'd gone into the office early. Mel was still wary of Sherlock's actions towards his brother. She pondered the situation as she watched the forest of trees pass by through the window. Why was Sherlock so violent? Was this the final straw in a childish feud for him? Or was it something deeper?

_This is how I act when someone takes what's mine, _he had said.

_He hurt you. Kidnapped you. Drugged you... I would kill him for only one of those offenses._

Mel swallowed the lump in her throat. _Why? Why would he say those things?_ The better question was, why couldn't she deduce his reasons? What had happened in the past month to warrant the lack of response from her mind?

The gentle brush of a hand against her face broke the woman from her musings. Her eyes fluttered open. She hadn't realized that they'd closed. The dancer looked over at the man next to her. "Did I fall asleep?" She asked, wiping her eyes.

"Yes," Sherlock hummed softly. "We're here." He swept a tendril of red hair behind her ear and cupped the side of her face. A look crossed his features that Mel couldn't place. All too soon, he pulled away. The emotion was gone- replaced by the familiar facade of indifference.

Mel slipped out of the black car after him- not before thanking the driver- and followed the consulting detective into 221B. As soon as she walked through the door, she heard yelling.

"_Is that her_?" John's abrupt words drifted down from the flat. "_I swear to god, if she's not already dead, I'm going to kill her_."

"_You will do nothing of the sort! That poor girl has been through the ringer for you boys!-_" Mrs. Hudson's words cut off as she appeared at the top of the stairs. A handkerchief was pressed to her nose. Her eyes were rimmed with red and damp with tears. Her eyes widened at the sight of the new arrivals. "Oh my goodness-!" The landlady descended the stairs with astonishing speed and tenacity for her age. In moments, Mel was wrapped up in the older woman's arms and inhaling her floral perfume.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," the redhead murmured. She felt Mrs. Hudson's wracking sobs. Her hand came up to the woman's head. Mel combed her fingers through her hair sweetly, soothing the tension almost immediately from her body. "Shhh, please don't cry. I'm fine. Don't worry."

"I'm sorry," the older woman sniffled, pulling away from the dancer's embrace. "F-first it was the b-boys and the bomb at the p-pool, and then with you..."

Mel peered over at Sherlock. _What pool? _She asked silently, narrowing her eyes at him. The man turned away immediately, avoiding her gaze. Looking back at Mrs. Hudson, the redhead wiped away the remaining tears with her pads of her thumbs. Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to the landlady's forehead. "I'm so sorry for making you worry."

Mrs. Hudson used the handkerchief to wipe her nose. "Oh goodness me, look at me. I'm a mess." Her chuckle was watery. "I'm going to make some tea and... c-collect myself."

The dancer nodded in understanding and watched as the woman disappeared through the door to her flat.

Sherlock ascended the stair swiftly, hoping to avoid any sort of confrontation between them. He heard her quiet footsteps on the stairs as she followed him up to the flat.

Mel sighed as she watched the handsome man flee to his apartment.

Hunger was gnawing relentlessly at her belly- making her temper rear its ugly head. It'd been days since she'd consumed any sort of food. Hoping there would be something in the boy's fridge other than specimens, Mel trailed after the consulting detective.

She wasn't looking forward to the backlash from John. There was no doubt the man would force some sort of lecture on her. Going by the ferocity in his voice, he was still upset with her.

Mel tentatively opened the door to the flat and walked into the sitting room. A heavy force barreled into her from behind, nearly knocking her down. The woman cried out. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, stopping the path that would've had the redhead introducing her face to the floor. The arms tightened around her until the breath was all but squeezed from her lungs. Her feet her lifted from the ground. John's woodsy cologne drifted into her nostrils.

"Can't... breathe...," she managed to gasp out.

"Oh- um- sorry." The doctor dropped her quickly.

Mel turned to face the blonde man. "I thought you were 'going to kill me'."

John went a ruddy shade of crimson. "Ah, yes, well... sorry."

"Stop apologizing," The woman sighed, pulling the doctor in for another hug. It was much more gentle than the first. She had to go up on the balls of her feet to effectively wrap her arms around his shoulders. The material of his plaid button-down was soft against her cheek. She felt his lips press against her hair. Humming contentedly, she nuzzled her face against his shoulder. John moved them over to the sofa and deposited her on the cushions. He somehow managed to lift her legs until they were laying across his lap without breaking their embrace.

"I was so worried that something had happened to you..." John swallowed, "...That Moriarty had gotten you... Then the way Sherlock was acting-"

"I'm alright," Mel interrupted. She pulled away just enough to kiss the doctor on the cheek. "Everything's fine."

"Good," he finally said, nodded slowly. His blue eyes took her in, as if willing any falsities to show themselves. When he didn't find anything, the man repeated his last statement. "Good."

"Are you alright?" She asked. The dancer thought about what Mrs. Hudson said. If she pretended to know about the situation, perhaps he could divulge what happened. "The pool must've been terrible..."

John sighed. His hands rested on the woman's legs. "I'd rather _not _be strapped to a bomb-"

"_What_?!" Mel cried. Her knee almost nailed the doctor in the chin as she attempted to move from his hold.

"Ah, I see that you couldn't wait," Sherlock exhaled as he exited his bedroom wearing a new set of clothes. A deep burgundy dress shirt clung to his torso- the buttons barely holding the material in place. His pants were tailored and black. His hair had a small amount of product in it, taming the raven curls.

He looked mouth-watering.

Mel swung her legs from John's lap and slid off the sofa. "Don't. Even. Try. It." The words were spat in a furious staccato. Her eyes narrowed at the consulting detective. Their stares locked.

The doctor's brow creased as he watched the situation unfold in front of him. "What...? He didn't do anything-"

"He's doing it right now," she hissed, glaring at Sherlock. It took all of her self-control to ignore the fluttering in her belly. "Aren't you?"

Sherlock's eyes widened with feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"By distracting me by your looks, you believe that you can use my hormones against me. You hope I'll forget to ask about whatever the hell happened at the 'pool'." Mel unbuttoned his coat and let it fall to the carpeted floor. The straps of her nightgown were barely holding the slippery satin to her body. She watched as the man's eyes ravaged her frame, not bothering to look away.

_Two can play this game, Mr. Holmes. _

She sauntered forward. Grasping the elastic that was holding her braid in place, the woman tugged it free. In moments, her hair was cascading around her loose waves. The scent of strawberries and vanilla wafted through the room. She watched as Sherlock's Adams Apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. Whether the action was caused by nerves or something else, the redhead didn't know. She padded across the floor until her toes touched the man's polished shoes.

Peering up at the man through a fan of dark lashes, Mel hummed quietly. "What happened at the pool, Sherlock?" She made a point of biting her lower lip.

His pupils were already dilated. His back straightened subtly, leading to the expansion of his chest. Mel stood on the tips of her toes and grazed her lips across the line of the man's jaw. "Tell me what happened," she whispered, taking a long moment to arch her back, effectively pressing her breasts against his chest. She could feel his heart beating wildly.

Sherlock exhaled a _whoosh _of air, as if he was holding his breath. "John and I met Moriarty, who happened to be Molly's gay boyfriend from St. Bartholomew's. It lasted less than five minutes, resulting in John wearing a bomb vest and Moriarty pulling a gun on me. We had a lovely chat, held hands and sang _kumbaya. _Then 'as a present' he said that he wouldn't 'hunt' you for the last two hours of your game... and we went our separate ways."

Mel's brain found it difficult to follow the sudden explosion of words. Her lip slipped from between her teeth. She rocked back on her heels and walked over to Sherlock's chair, sinking into the soft leather. She sat there in shock, gazing blankly at the floor. Her mind was working swiftly, filtering through all of the information.

She wasn't surprised that Jim and Moriarty were the same person. The possibility had cycled through her head on more than one occasion. The fact that he'd strapped a bomb to John had her blood boiling. In the past month, these boys had become the two most important people in her life. The fact that someone had threatened that relationship... Mel was livid.

Sherlock's polished designer shoes entered her vision.

"Were you going to tell me?" She whispered. Her emerald eyes were focused on the carpet.

"No," he admitted.

"Ah," Mel breathed, a sinking pit settling in her stomach. A cold chill lifted the hair on her body making her cross her arms across her chest. Her flirtatious attitude evaporated.

The beautiful man crouched in front of her. His weight rested on the balls of his feet. His palms pressed together and rested them against his thighs.

"...Are you alright, Melina?"

She swallowed. "F-fine. I'm fine." The woman staggered to her feet. She swayed slightly from the lack of sugar in her system. Sherlock straightened to his full height and steadied her with a hand against her bicep.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson walked through the door carrying a massive tray. There was tea, toast and jam. The lovely spread had the dancer's stomach growling in seconds. The landlady chuckled, obviously in better spirits. "Come eat, my dear."

She pulled away from the consulting detective and followed the woman to the sofa. The redhead sat beside John once more, ignoring his wide blue stare as he took in her state of dress. Mrs. Hudson placed the tray on the coffee table and prepared a cup of tea for everyone. She passed the first cup to Mel. The dancer thanked her immediately. The warmth from the drink warmed her frigid grip instantly. The liquid soothed her throat and heated her insides. Humming softly, the woman started to munch her way through the entire stack of toast.

"Uh, how long has it been since you've eaten anything?" John questioned after the third slice vanished.

She shrugged. "Four? Possibly five at the very most," she sighed happily. Her irritation with Sherlock for not telling her about the pool incident earlier quickly disappeared.

"Jesus..." The doctor swore, eyes wide. "Why didn't-"

"I've been busy running for my life," Mel said, cutting him off. "Then I was drugged. And distracted." The redhead shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm eating now."

"She fainted this morning." Sherlock's baritone lilted from his chair. Mel shot a glare at him. He met it easily, responding with a cheeky half smile.

"Mel..." John shook his head. A disappointed sigh expelled from his lips. "Am I going to have to force you to eat?"

She rolled her eyes, a sudden flame of defiance flickering through her. "I'd like to see you try, Doctor Watson."

"Alright then," he muttered, placing his hands flat against his thighs. "You're coming back here at lunchtime-"

"John!" She sputtered on her tea. "I was kidding!-"

"-And you'll be eating a full meal with Sherlock and I-"

Sherlock scoffed. "I do not give my consent to this operation."

The military doctor pursed his lips as he looked to his friend. "Don't you want to be a good role model for Mel?"

The consulting detective's mouth opened and closed several times. "Well yes, but that doesn't mean-"

"Good!" John was beaming with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Be ready in-" He checked his watch, "-three hours. We'll go over to Speedy's."

"Can I come too, John?" Mrs. Hudson's giggles echoed from the kitchen where she was washing the pile of dishes.

"You're definitely invited!" The doctor replied lightly. Picking up the daily paper, he walked over to his chair. A smug smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he sipped his tea and read the newspaper.

Mel flushed as she polished off the pile of toast.

_Note to self: Never challenge John Watson. _

"I'm going to take a shower," the redhead grumbled. She quickly thanked Mrs. Hudson for the food and pecked her cheek.

Sherlock slipped of his chair. "I'll walk you to your flat," he mumbled. He subtly snatched his violin from the table and hid it behind his back. Mel bit her lip to keep from grinning. It'd been too long since he'd played for her.

They escaped up to her apartment.

Once they were safely inside, Mel laughed. "I can't believe you told John I fainted! He's not going to leave me alone now." She smacked his chest before walking to the bathroom. She flipped the light switch left the door slightly ajar so she could hear him talk.

The man sighed as he sat down in the armchair. "That plan was not executed correctly."

Mel heard him begin tuning his violin. "He's been searching for any reason to make you eat as well," she chuckled and she slipped the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, allowing the material to pool on the tile floor. She hung it up quickly. "It wasn't a very clever plan."

He didn't respond. Moments later, a soft melody drifted through the door. Mel smiled and hopped into the shower. The scalding spray felt like heaven on her cool flesh. She scrubbed her hair and body quickly, relishing in the familiarity of the scent of her soaps and cleansers. When she was done, the woman shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.

She toweled her body off and squeezed the water from her hair. When she was combing through the damp tendrils, a sudden thought popped into her head.

"Sherlock?" She called, stepping out of the bathroom after her towel was securely wrapped around her. The beautiful melody faded as he pulled the bow across the strings one last time.

His eyes opened. "Yes?" His eyes unrepentantly observed her bare legs. The bottom towel

"How did you know where I was? That I was with Mycroft."

The man exhaled. "It was simple. I've been to the estate once before. I know the wallpaper in every room. When you took the picture, I knew that you were safe."

"He drugged me."

A dark look crossed his features. "Fairly safe."

Sighing, Mel padded across the hardwood floor and entered her bedroom. Shedding her towel, the woman slipped into matching black undergarments and a pair of leggings. She dragged a thin navy camisole over her head and grabbed a long lavender cable knit sweater from the closet.

Walking back into the main room, the redhead threw the sweater down on the kitchen table and twisted her hair into a high bun. She noticed Sherlock's eyes were focused on the band of stomach the camisole revealed as it rode up. The violin was forgotten and sat dejectedly in his lap. His palms were pressed together- as if in prayer- and fitted in front of his lips.

Humming softly under her breath, the woman walked over to the small cabinet near the fireplace and pulled out a pair of her ballet slippers and Pointe shoes. She took a seat on the floor and started to stretch. The tension and anxiety from the past week slowly faded from her body. A gentle smile stretched her lips as she spread her legs into the splits and folded over, bringing her chin to the ground.

It'd been years since she'd taken so many days off practice and performing. The fatigue in her muscles and joint was evident as she finished her stretches. Mel slipped her satin slippers onto her feet before standing. Using a chair at the kitchen table, she started her typical warm up. Her thighs protested throughout the simple _pliés_. Drowning out the tension in her muscles, the woman taxed her body for longer than normal. By the time she decided it would be satisfactory to move onto _tendus, _a light sheen of sweat covered her brow. Mel went through the various positions methodically, ignoring the warning signs her body was giving her.

_Take it easy, Mel..._

She shut the voice out immediately. If the Royal Ballet accepted her, she needed to be in the best shape possible. She didn't have time to sleep like she did at the Estate.

Steeling her mind, Mel's heels touched as she came back to first position. Taking a deep breath, the dancer sunk into a set of _grand pliés. _She heard a slow melody coming from Sherlock's violin. The emotion in the notes swirled tangibly through the air. It was different from anything she'd ever heard him play before. Part of the woman wondered if this was the one of the 'sad pieces' he'd composed in her absence.

After the first pains in her body, muscle memory kicked in to absorb the movement. She practiced her _glissés_ and _rond de jambes _before moving back to the _pliés. _Smiling with satisfaction, the redhead moved away from the chair and stepped into the main room. She'd missed the large expanse of hardwood floor and the floor-length mirror. _Arabesques _and _pirouettes_ on demi Pointe. _Petites_ and _Grand jetés. _The skills flowed through her body like the ebbing tide of the sea. The safety and tranquility she only felt while dancing pulsed through her veins.

Mel walked back to her Pointe shoes and sat cross-legged on the ground. She slipped her satin slippers off her feet and grabbed the roll of tape from the kitchen table. The practised movement took hold of her dextrous fingers as she wrapped up her feet. When she finished, the woman slipped her Pointe shoes on and wound the laces around her ankles and calves for support. She stood and rolled from the flat of her foot, to the ball, to the toe. One foot at a time, she stood up en pointe, shifting from demi to full, then demi to pointe. She went through her _relevés _in first position before going back to her warm up once more. There was no way she was going to be hasty and risk an injury.

Sherlock's composition melted into something sweeter as Mel finally began to leap across the room. The music enchanted something deep inside her being. The notes flowed through the octaves, lilting through a solitary theme. It was gorgeous. Her back arched as she leaped high into the air. Her steps were barely a whisper on the wood floorboards. The music swirled. Then there was a sudden crescendo, taking the emotion of the piece to another level entirely.

It wasn't a song or a melody any longer.

It was an oath. A promise.

It faded away finally, allowing for a delicate pause to envelope the space between them.

Mel felt hands on her waist, ceasing the spins of her _fouetté_ _en Pointe. _She gasped. Her palms went to his chest in a attempt to steady herself. Sherlock's fingers came up to her face, caressing her cheekbone.

"Why are you crying?" He asked softly, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I... I'm not..." She reached up. Her fingers came away wet with salty tears. She gazed up at the handsome man, emerald eyes wide. "I... I..." A wracking sob cut through her words.

"I wrote it for you," he breathed against her heated brow. His lips took their time to kiss away the woman's tears, one by one. The unbelievably sweet actions caused more to form. He didn't seem to mind. His hands cupped either side of her face, holding her in place. Sherlock's lips trailed over his eyelids. The bridge of her nose. Her jaw. It was as if he was memorizing her face with every kiss. When Mel's sobs quieted, the consulting detective pressed a sweet kiss to her lips- punctuating the end of his perusal. "I wrote it for you...," he repeated against her mouth, his hot breath tasting of mint and tea.

Mel reached up and threaded her fingers into his silky curls. She stood up on the toe of her pointe shoes and pressed her lips to his. It was the softest of kisses. The man's body heat enveloped her. It was perfect; earth-tilting. Everything shifted at that one touch. It said more than they could ever explain in words. The pads of his fingers trailed from their hold on her face, moving to grasp the nape of her neck.

They pulled away- not for breath, but because of the overwhelming sensations flooding the connection of their lips.

Sherlock gazed down at the beauty in front of him. The woman's emotive gaze stared up at him in wonder- more intent than ever before and as thrilling as it was tantalizing. She was an angel. And she was his. She _wanted _him. He moved forward and kissed her again, lingering this time. A breathy moan left her.

"Open," he commanded- his voice rough as it rumbled through his chest. The moment she obeyed, he slid his tongue into her mouth. And oh, her taste. It was _exquisite_. Like sweet summer berries, dipped in fresh cream. He was addicted to her taste. He thought of it every waking moment. It was worse than any drug he'd tried in the past. It infiltrated his dreams; images of him taking her over and over again haunted his mind. When he finally woke- and realized she wasn't really there with him- Sherlock would sigh and stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Oh, how he wished to ascend the thirteen stairs to her flat, pick the lock on her door, and make his dream a reality. But moments like this- when she was truly with him- the man was captivated. Melina McAllister was his.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and tilted his head to the side, forcing deeper contact. The man drank her in, greedy, ravenous, using all of his willpower to keep his hands at the base of her neck. Images of her naked flesh- barely covered by the scarlet duvet and the cream silk nightgown- flitted through his mind. How the sun graced the soft curves and gorgeous bone structure of her face. He watched her for hours as she slept. Only when her breaths became shallow as she slowly woke did the man feign sleep. And then her fingers. How her fingers touched every surface of his face. And her lips... Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and forced the memory back into the recesses of his subconscious.

The dancer met his tongue thrust for thrust, asserting just the right amount of pressure to leave him yearning for more. _Needing _more. When she pulled away, a pitiful groan of despair was barely silenced as he bit the inside of his cheek.

Melina smiled coyly up at him, straight white teeth peaking out just enough to bite her full bottom lip.

_She wants to slow things down. Do not ravage the woman..._

Sherlock reached up to grab her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He forced her to release her delectable lip from those sharp little teeth.

_How would it feel if she bit my neck? Would it be as pleasurable as it is in my fantasies? Would it force my release from me almost instantaneously?_

"Sherlock?" Mel whispered, watching as a predatory gleam heated the man's pale gaze. "Are you alright?"

He coughed. The look dissipated. "Fine. Yes- fine... Thank you, Melina."

The redhead smiled and pressed her lips to his once more. "Good."

He chuckled and stepped away, moving to grab his violin. "I am not the only person who is starting to sound like John."

The dancer's laugh joined in with his. She pulled off her Pointe shoes and walked to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of ice water. Taking a glass from the cupboard, she poured the water inside. When she'd downed the entire glass, she placed it in the sink and turned back to the handsome consulting detective.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

She walked over to where he stood by the door, obviously preparing to leave. "I just want you to know. It was..." Mel sighed, "That song you played for me is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

Sherlock paused, his hand on the door knob. He didn't turn around to face her. He couldn't. "It..." He swallowed audibly. "It is how I see you, Melina."

The woman's heart seized in her chest.

The man exhaled heavily. "I wrote... how I feel. My _emotion_. What you've done to me." Sherlock scoffed as he looked to the ceiling. "It's how I see you..." None of the words he truly wanted to say would come out. He pulled the door open before she could speak. He descended those thirteen stairs back to his flat. He hoped when he arrived at the bottom of those stairs, he would arrive back at the simple existence before he met Melina; before he _felt_. The cage around his heart was supposed to be impenetrable. And it had been, for the majority of his life.

When Sherlock entered the flat, he came to the most important realization of his life.

Melina McAllister was his greatest downfall.

At the same time, she was the only person that could save him.

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**Q_Q Tears. I can't even... **

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	12. Chapter 12: Presentation

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

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**Gwilwillith:** Thank you!

**harliesue:** Hahaha, I must say that you are adorable. Your 'freaking out' always makes me smile. Don't cry, my darling! I apologize profusely for doing that to you. I'm a singer/songwriter, so music has always been emotional for me. I'm just happy I can write something like this that I absolutely adore that still happens to please the readers. It feels like my baby ;p I'm so glad that you love it. Thank you once again for reading!

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**Slyork1991:** You look forward to updates, and I love your reviews! Thank you for liking Mel so much. My best friend is a dancer, so I kind of wrote this for her. She'll figure it out when she finally gets around to reading this ;D

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**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

_The levels of cortisol in your blood are increasing. Breathe, Mel. In... Out... Research has confirmed that excess stress hormones can cause both anxiety and depression, and contribute to the likelihood of an anxiety attack. __Breathe__._

The ballet director walked through the door to the large auditorium. "Alright." He clapped his hands and smiled. "I want to thank you all for auditioning with The Royal Ballet this year for our newest production."

The large crowd of dancers clapped. There was a chorus of good natured hollering. The woman did neither. The lights above were just a few degrees too hot. The room was only a few inches too small.

_Fire regulations say there can only be three hundred people in this room at once. There has to be more. _A quick head count revealed that there were only one hundred and seventy-two. _Oh. I suppose not, then._

The director waved for silence. "I've just posted the casting list in Studio A. Good work everyone!"

Mel's heart thudded against her ribcage. She sat in the crowd of dozens of talented dancers and stage hands. Her eyes scanned the crowd as they all quickly stood to make their way to the studio. As the redhead made to follow, the director- Kevin O'Hare- stepped forward. He smiled kindly.

"May I have a word, Melina?"

"Of course, Sir." She blinked with no small amount of surprise. She found it quite amazing how he remembered her name.

He waved his hand. "Please, call me Kevin."

The woman watched as the last of the stragglers left the hall. She slipped her satchel across her body and turned her full attention to the director of the Royal Ballet. His hairline receded only slightly, showing the years of work as a dancer and administrating director to the ballet. His grey eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm incredibly impressed with the role you've taken here in the company, Melina."

She was astonished to say the least. "Oh, thank you, Si- uh, Kevin."

He smiled at her slip but didn't comment. "I would also like to say, I'm amazed with the progress you've made since your audition." He motioned for them to walk to the door before placing his hands in the front pockets of his dress pants. "Which- I'm proud to say- I was present for."

"Oh. Thank you."

He nodded and reached to open the door for her. "If I may be so bold, I would say that was one of the most beautiful auditions I've witnessed in all my years here."

Mel's eyes widened. "That's quite sweet of you to say."

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true." He smiled once again. "Now go. I'm sure you're anxious to see what part you've been given."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you again, Sir."

He chuckled. "Kevin, Melina. Have a good weekend."

She flushed and turned to leave, not before waving one last time. "Kevin. Thank you."

The woman quickly moved down the hall to the main studio. She stumbled forward as a hard body barrelled into her back. Arms locked around her neck and legs wound around her waist.

"Why were you talkin' to O'Hare?"

The woman rolled her eyes at the high-pitched voice. "He was just wishing me good luck." She grunted. "Anna, get off. You're hurting my back."

"Oh shit," the tiny dancer swore in her posh accent and scrambled off. "Seriously? Are you okay?" Her big blue eyes widened as they looked her over for injuries.

Mel chuckled and adjusted her bag. "I'm fine. I just don't want to have to carry you all the way there."

Anna rolled her bright blue eyes. "I. Am. Not. Fat." She sniffed indignantly. "I hope that's not what you were implying."

"Nope. I never said you were. You came to that conclusion all on your own."

Anna slapped her arm and pouted- quite a lethal combination. Mel just chuckled. They caught up to the others and followed the sea of dancers down the corridor.

"Hey ladies!" A handsome man called as he ran over. His dark hair flopped into his eyes. He wore a pair of loose fitting sweatpants and a V-neck shirt. He grinned, showing off a set of straight and perfectly whitened teeth.

"Hey babe," Anna greeted, reaching up to give him a sound kiss on the lips.

"Hello Rex." The redhead waved as she smiled at the couple.

Since joining the company several months ago, they'd become her closest friends. They went out to dinner and cast parties; when she wasn't busy with Sherlock- which happened to consume most of her free time. It was almost a fulltime job on its own.

Rex slipped his arm around his girlfriends waist. "How you doing, Red? Still holding out hope-"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I still want the primary solo."

"But it's _Cinderella_. Your chances are less than..." His words trailed off when Anna delivered a hard slap to his bicep. "Jesus," he swore, rubbing his upper arm. The skin was already turning red.

"You're in an abusive mood today," Mel noted. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"What he means," the small blonde tried to amend, "Is that you're the newbie. There'd be hell to pay if O'Hare chose you instead of one of the Principles."

Mel exhaled heavily. "I'm more than aware, guys. Everyone's told me this throughout auditions." And they had. With frigid glares. And sneers.

They rounded another corner. Mel's stomach churned uncomfortably. The friends approached Studio A and pulled the doors open. There was already a large crowd around the bulletin board. The room was buzzing with energy. The group chattered amicably, discussing their parts with one another. Several girls picked up their things and stormed furiously from the room. Mel had to sidestep them swiftly to avoid being trampled. She received several deadly glares. Her stomach dropped.

_What part did I get?_

The redhead groaned. "I don't want to look." She moved to bolt for the door. "Can't I just go-"

"Oh no you don't!" Anna growled and caught her by the hand. She pushed the woman forward through the crowd. "Excuse me! Let me through!" A man body-checked her. "Damn, you people are like vultures!"

Mel chuckled nervously as the tiny blonde shoved her to the front of the group. She stumbled forward. The woman caught herself on the wall and looked up at the sheet.

CINDERELLA - MELINA McALLISTER

Her jaw dropped. Her mind went blank.

"Ho. Ly. _Shit_!" Anna cursed. "Holy shit!"

"I heard you the first time..." Mel whispered. Her emerald eyes were wide.

_How did this happen?_ She wasn't even a principle.

A slow grin stretched across her lips. She looked up at the ceiling. _I finally made it, mom. I did it for you._ An elated giggled bubbled up in her throat. She bit her lip, unable to hide the wide grin that stretched her lips. _I did it to be close to you. Now I'm finally here. I just wish you could see..._

"Hey, are you Melina?"

She looked over and saw there was a young man watching her. She thought that he looked more like a surfer with his messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"Yeah," she said. "Uh, Mel actually."

"Lee," he introduced, holding his hand out. The Australian accent in his voice was so thick she could barely understand him.

The redhead looked down at the offered hand. "Uh, hey...?" She was confused to why he was speaking with her.

The man chuckled. "I'm going to be your Prince Charming."

Her grin dropped. "What-?"

"No, no... look." He pointed back to the casting list, laughing.

PRINCE CHARMING - LEOPOLD ARNALDS

Ah.

"Oh..." Mel laughed and finally reached down to shake his hand. "I thought you were coming on to me."

His chuckles increased in volume. "I have a girlfriend, Doll."

"I have a boyfriend."

"Good," Lee smiled. His friendly blue eyes sparkled. "So things won't be awkward?"

"Nope."

"Good."

That word always reminded her of John. The doctor left the day before to visit his sister, Harry and was gone for the weekend. The woman already missed him terribly. He was the closest thing she had to family and was a mix of a brother and father figure. It had been less than twenty-four hours without the doctor around, and Sherlock was already a downright menace.

"Alright, so when do we start practices?" She asked.

The man grinned. "Not until Monday. I asked Kev, and he said he's giving everyone the weekend off."

Mel couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It was contagious. "Alright. I'll see you then." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" He reached into his backpack and pulled out a sleek phone. "What's your number? You wanna get coffee sometime and talk about the ballet?"

"Uh..."

Lee chuckled at her hesitation. "I know you're the newbie here. I can share some tips..." He shrugged. "If you want."

"Sure." Mel smiled and took his mobile. "That'd be great." She typed her number into his contacts.

They said goodbye and the redhead made her way to the entrance. Anna and Rex stood with their back against the wall. As soon as the tiny blonde saw her, she jumped forward and hugged her like a Koala bear.

"I can't believe- well I can- but wow..." Anna bounced up and down excitedly. "My bestie is gonna be Cinderella!"

The redhead chuckled at her delight. "What'd you guys get?"

"One of the mice and the second step-sister." Rex stated, placing a hand on his girlfriends shoulder to reduce her bouncing.

"That's great!"

Anna squealed. "I know! You wanna go for brunch? We can chat about it-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt." A man in a black suit walked up to them and flashed his badge. "Detective Stephen Oliphant, Scotland Yard. Melina McAllister?"

Mel stepped forward, crossing her arms across her chest. "Yes? What's going on?" She looked over and saw that the blonde's smile was fading away.

"Could you step into the hallway for me, Ma'am?"

"No." She frowned. He looked surprised with that answer. "I want you to tell me what's going on."

The detective exhaled heavily. "It's about Sherlock Holmes."

Mel's heart stuttered. "Is he alright? Has something happened?"

His lips flattened into a single, determined line. "I need you to come with me, Ma'am. Detective inspector Lestrade insisted."

The woman scowled. Slowly, she nodded. "Alright. Take me to him."

Anna reached out and took her hand. "Is everything okay, hon?" Her eyes grew wide with concern. "Isn't that your boyfriend.

"Yeah he is... and I don't know." She pulled away and followed the detective down the hall.

...

Sherlock sighed and folded his arms across his chest. One of his legs was bobbing up and down with impatience. The air smelled of cheap coffee and musty paper. Sherlock watched the small amount of saliva building up in the corner of the inspector's mouth. He continued wittering on about something so obnoxiously pointless that each word seemed to bounce off the detective's skull. There weren't even words coming anymore. Just... nothingness.

"Are you even listening to me?" Lestrade paused, and slumped back in his chair. "Look, Sherlock. You have to stop texting everyone during our press conferences. Its making us look bad."

"You didn't need my help with that," he muttered under his breath. His leg resumed its bouncing. "You were doing just fine all on your own."

The man sighed with no small amount of exasperation. "I need you to stop. Really, properly, stop."

"Have I hit a nerve?" He smirked victoriously.

"Sherlock-" the Detective Inspector stopped himself and sighed, most likely to keep his anger in check. "I don't know what to do with you anymore. You're not going to be allowed to help on cases if you keep doing this-"

"I thought you were on a diet." The consulting detective's eyes found traces of white crumbs on the lapel of the man's suit jacket.

Lestrade fidgeted in his chair. "I am-"

"Then you need to stop eating biscuits."

The greying haired man went a lovely shade of tomato.

Sherlock smirked. "now if we're done here-" He moved to the door, buttoning his wool coat.

"Sherlock, sit down," he hissed. "There's something else."

The dark haired man rolled his eyes skyward and prayed for divine intervention as he moved back into the chair facing the man's desk.

"We're having a presentation in about half an hour about harassment in the workplace-"

"Oh. GOD." his eyes stared imploringly up at the ceiling. _This is why I'm not religious._ "I believe I'm actually withering away as we speak." he tried to tune out the prattling man, but he was too loud. And obnoxious.

"As part of the department team, you have to take part in the lectures. Everyone who sets foot in this building has to be aware of the guidelines and regulations."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I'm not on your team, Lestrade." He sneered.

Lestrade sighed. "Yeah, but you still keep turning up here."

"If I didn't, you'd still have hundreds of murderers on your streets."

Lestrade chose to ignore his quip. "-Kind of like a cat that always comes back for food. A cat with fleas. And a temper."

Sherlock glared viciously at him.

"You've upset half of the female staff- criticizing their perfume and wardrobe choices- while the other has to put up with your ridiculous deductions-"

Sherlock raised his head at that. "How is it ridiculous if I'm stating the truth?"

"-You've ridiculed the receptionist until she demanded a new job placement in a different division." He cocked a single brow.

Sherlock snorted. "Why are you even telling me this? I'm clearly being forced to go whether I like it or not."

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "Because you don't want to be there, you're going to be a _git _until you get asked to leave. You'll interrupt and irritate everyone with your texting and comments for the entire two hours."

Sherlock smirked. _True._

"So," he continued, "I made a phone call this morning to a friend of mine. I asked him to go pick someone up that'll be able to keep you under control for the entire presentation." Lestrade grinned as Sherlock's smirk slowly faded.

"Who-"

"See for yourself." He nodded towards the window. There, through the glass and open blinds, striding into the division was Melina McAllister.

Her appearance was normally pleasing to the consulting detective- but that day she was even more so. Her hair was down and swept over her left shoulder. The red curls were tousled and bounced as she walked. Her makeup was subtle and barely there; Sherlock could only detect mascara, a thin, precise line of liquid eyeliner on her upper lid, and lip balm. Her cheeks were flushed. His eyes scoured her petite frame. He already had seven ideas for why she was blushing. Her eyes sparkled. _Did something happen when she was at work?_ _What did she say this morning?_ He probably hadn't been listening. Or deleted it. He had the tendency to just watch her petal-pink lips and let his mind wander. Today, she wore a pair of faded grey leggings and one of his button down shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. This one looked lovely against her pale skin as it was a deep forest green.

She smiled kindly at everyone she passed. The man at her side- presumably Stephan- took her jacket and ushered her into a small room that was normally used for interrogations.

Sherlock turned back towards Lestrade, trying desperately to maintain an expression of neutrality.

"Oh."

The inspector laughed and stood up, gesturing towards the door. "She's got to be one hell of a woman to up with you, Holmes."

Sherlock swept out of Lestrade's office without a word and made a beeline for the room the redhead had disappeared into. As he reached the door, he recognized that his palms had begun to sweat. He wiped them hastily on his thighs. Sherlock cleared his throat before he walked inside.

...

"Can I take your coat for you?"

"Please." Mel smiled softly and passed her wool coat over. Detective Oliphant took it and ushered her into a small room.

Her arms crossed over her chest. The blinds were drawn over the large panes of glass, cutting her view off of the main office. She started to pace back and forth through the room.

The door opened. Sherlock marched in- coat swirling. His eyes flashed. "Hello Melina." His deep baritone caused the usual butterflies to flutter in her stomach. She had thought the sensation would've stopped or lessened over the months. It never did.

"Sherlock? Why am I here?"

He linked his hands behind his back. His face was a cool mask of indifference. "Lestrade wishes for you to assume the role of my "keeper" while John is away."

Mel exhaled, running a frustrated hand through her hair. "Sherlock, I was at work. Can't you just behave-?"

"I do not require someone of lesser intellectual prowess to speak to me of my behavior!" His voice was raised, on the verge of shouting. The woman felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Her breath left her lungs in a tense shudder. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. "Melina-"

Sherlock's hands came from behind his back. He lifted them slowly, palms facing her. The action was like he was trying to calm a wild beast. He walked forward. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know," she whispered, gazing down at the tile floor. She took a step back, matching each stride he made in advance.

"I didn't think-"

She peered up at him through her lashes. Her face was hot. "You don't, though, do you?" Her words were as hushed as a whisper. "Someone so clever, you don't even consider the things you say-" Her back finally hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go.

Sherlock continued forward and pressed his palm just to the right of her head against the cool wall. He leaned forward. The scent of his spicy cologne filled her nostrils. He hovered just a breath away- testing the few millimeters between them. His gaze flickered between her eyes and lips.

"I was not insulting your above average intelligence."

"That's sure what is sounded like, Mr. Holmes." She sounded bitter even to her own ears. The warmth of his mouth was so close but she willed herself to gaze up into his eyes. His words had wounded her. "I'm a _single_ IQ point below you. You don't have any right to-"

He closed the distance and quickly pressed his mouth to hers. Mel let out a sigh of defeat as the touch effectively drained the anger from her body. This was his form of apology.

"Your stress response is heightened, increasing the levels of adrenalin and cortisol in your blood," Sherlock spouted off when he finally pulled away. "The neurotransmitter dopamine is stimulating for mind at this very moment." He brushed his lips over hers once more. "Then there is the Serotonin. You can't stop thinking of me. Even when you're at work you're-"

"You're insufferable," Mel breathed. Her eyes moved to his mouth traitorously as his lingered just a breath away.

"And you're enjoying it, aren't you, Melina?" When she didn't answer, Sherlock smirked. "You find this _exciting_."

She inhaled sharply and found enough strength to turn her face away from another kiss. Her cheek pressed against the cool surface of the wall. "Please explain to me how this is exciting."

"Anyone could walk in. Lestrade. Donovan..."

"Sherlock-"

"Just say the word Melina," he growled. The sound came from deep in his throat.

She swallowed audibly. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me to take you. Here and now."

His nose trailed across her exposed jaw, inhaling her scent. He brushed the hair from her neck, fingers grazing her skin, eliciting a breathy gasp. The man pressed his mouth against her pulse point.

"I will not do anything to you until. You. _Beg_."

"N-no, Sherlock."

"Just say the words." His teeth grazed the woman's throat.

"How did this go from calling me stupid to wanting to screw me?"

He smirked. "I wouldn't screw you, Melina. Make love to you, possibly." His teeth bit down, causing her to cry out. He laved his tongue over the mark to ebb the sting away. "Or fuck you. Those are the only two choices."

Sherlock never swore. For some reason, saying these things out loud had her heart beating wildly. Mel could feel his arousal pressing against her belly. A muscle deep inside of her clenched at the delicious contact.

"I've waited very patiently these last months, Melina."

"I-I know you have...," she stuttered.

His silver eyes flashed with the overwhelming intensity of his gaze. "The things I could do to you... I could make you scream for me."

Mel's self control snapped instantaneously. Letting out a hushed groan, she gripping the consulting detectives hair and pulled him down so their lips met. The kiss was all teeth, tongue and grind. They'd deprived themselves of this over the past months. The floodgates opened, Their tongues battled for dominance- tangling in a fierce power struggle. She nibbled his delectable lower lip, slowly pulling away, tugging at the flesh. In the past four months they had been together, Mel noticed that he had something with biting. Like clockwork, the intensity of the flames roared to new heights.

Since their night at his brothers estate, the couple had slowed down their physical relationship. Not much more than subtle touches and chaste kisses. Sherlock was the perfect gentleman, despite his blatant attempts at seduction.

Mel's thoughts scrambled as his hands found their way under her thighs and lifted her up. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. The kiss resumed. Sherlock pinned her to the wall with his hips. They were both hyperaware that only a few layers of clothing kept them from each other. The consulting detective bucked against her, causing the woman to gasp. Her head fell back against the wall. His fingers traced the hem of her shirt.

"Sherlock. S-stop..."

He groaned. He was so close to his prize. _Calm yourself_, he thought, grimacing as his length throbbed. He was so very hard.

The woman slid her legs from his waist and moved to the side. Using the window to assess her reflection, she quickly combed her hair back into place.

"I know what you're trying to do." She hummed, as if they were talking about the weather.

"And what'd that be?" He indulged, adjusting himself in his trousers while her back was turned.

"You think you can make me forget to ask why the hell I've been dragged in here."

"I already told you." He exhaled. "You're my keeper while John is visiting the alcoholic-"

"His sister," she corrected, raising a single brow as she finally turned to face him.

"Names are dull."

Mel sighed. "What's going on, Sherlock?"

"There's a presentation on workplace harassment. My presence is required. Apparently, I'm 'part of the team'..." He scoffed at the ridiculousness of that statement. His fingers laced together, hands behind his back.

"Then you should go. What's the problem?"

The detective rolled his eyes. "I have better things to be doing than-"

"You think I don't?" Mel demanded, fitting her hands on her hips. "I was at work-"

"You were done, anyways," he interrupted. "And you have the weekend off, it seems," he stated, head cocked to the side as he observed her.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a calming breath. "Look, let's agree to get this lecture over and done with without pissing everyone off. We can go home, have dinner, and we can go up to my place and practice."

"I'm the intellectual superior of everyone who has ever stepped foot in these offices-"

"Sherlock...," she sighed, tone filled with warning.

He groaned. "I was not speaking of _you_."

Mel laughed shortly. "When's the presentation?"

"Ten minutes."

"We should get going, then. I don't want you to be late."

"I don't want to," Sherlock whined and started to pace across the room.

"Alright." She sighed as she watched his irate steps. "If you sit still and _listen_ to the entire speech, you can have one thing."

The consulting detective paused. He looked over at the beauty. "What?"

"Anything you wish," she breathed.

He narrowed his eyes. "You in my bed?"

"I didn't make qualifications, so yes, that would be an option..." She flushed under his intense stare. "But you have to be _good_." She raised a single brow. "Can you do that, Sherlock?"

His lips lifted with a calculated smirk. It was altogether sensual. His eyes flashed. "Yes, Melina. I believe I can be _good_, as you say, if you will be in my bed by the end of the night."

Mel went a vivid shade of red. "You have to be civil."

"Yes, yes- I'll behave."

She sauntered up to him and pressed a kiss to his perfect mouth. "You better. If you don't, the deal." Her lips where at his ear as she stood on the tips of her toes. "Is." Her teeth grazed the lobe. "Void."

She kissed the detective's ear just as his hands came to her waist. She slipped away and walked to the door. "Come on Sherlock. Let's see if you can listen."

...

"...And the last topic we're going to discuss today, is that words hurt. The rule is golden for a reason, people: You must treat others the way you wish to be treated..."

It took significant amount of his determination for the consulting detective not to stand, flip the table he was sitting behind, and storm out of the conference room. Everyone in the department was crammed into a space with too many bodies and not enough oxygen. The room was hot and the air was thick from lack of ventilation. There wasn't even enough room for anyone to get up to turn on the air conditioning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Melina was smiling softly to herself. Her slim fingers were drawing meaningless patterns across the surface of the table. The only thing that was keeping him from shouting out at the top of his lungs, was the promise that she would be in his bed in several hours. Even though they had both enjoyed their sleep at the estate, Sherlock admitted that his intentions were in no way innocent. Because of this, they slept in their respective flats if they required rest. Most nights, she was busy dancing. And he watched her, letting his mind float away as he played for her.

He watched as her index finger made its seventy-second circle. He wished he was on that table. _Was_ the table.

_Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic._ His subconscious shook his head in shame.

And yet beneath layers of clothing, Sherlock's length was still strained against his trousers. He didn't care anymore about the pathetic nature of his thoughts. If that woman crooked her finger and told him to ravage her in front of all of his coworkers, on that very table, he would do it. He wouldn't even feel remorse after the fact.

He was hyperaware of her presence beside him. How her right arm pressed gently against him. How the scent of berries and whipped cream cut through the stench of body odour and sweat.

Suddenly, her hand moved from the table to her knee. Sherlock's eyes watched as her fingers crossed the divide. She pressed her small palm casually against his lower thigh; gentle, innocent, but a subtle reminder to be on his best behaviour. His breathing hitched. The touch went straight to his groin. Little jolts of electricity lit up the nerve endings. After exactly five minutes and twenty-nine seconds, Mel's palm slid upwards a fraction of an inch. She squeezed with tantalising pressure. Biting the inside of his cheek, Sherlock glanced over at her. The beauty was watching the speaker at the front of the room, rapt by his words and entirely focused.

It was torturous. It was heaven.

But that was Melina McAllister at her very core. His downfall. His savior. Demon. Angel.

Four minutes and seventeen seconds.

The grip tightened a small fraction then slid the tiniest bit higher, letting her index finger- which hung just on the inside of Sherlock's thigh- rub gentle circles into the fabric.

Then she pulled away entirely.

_No. Come back..._

The drone of the lecturer came back into the forefront of his mind at the absence of the woman's touch, and he found himself just barely able to reign himself in, painfully hard.

"...Thank you all for listening. If you have any questions, please feel free to come ask."

Sherlock said a silent hallelujah to himself as he heard those words, clapping with just a little too much gusto along with everyone else, Lestrade told them they were free to go. His leg bobbed up and down impatiently as he waited for people to begin filing out. He watched as Mel stood slowly, adjusting her leather bag across her body.

She smiled softly up at him. "I just have a couple of questions for Jerry, if that's alright with you." Her stunning green eyes sparkled.

She was testing him; daring him to disobey. It was torture.

He finally nodded stiffly. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

Her smile grew. "That would be lovely."

It was excruciating. She asked three general questions. Things she already knew. The speaker, Jerry, took a minimum of twelve minutes to answer each. Melina nodded and supplied the necessary laughs at the man's feeble jokes. She ignored his obvious attempts at asking her out to dinner that evening. On the final occurrence, she smiled kindly.

"I apologize, but my partner and I have plans."

_Partner._ Oh, the consulting detective enjoyed the sound of that. He slipped his arm around her waist and abruptly pulled her away. She waved back and thanked him for his time.

Sherlock pressed her flush against the line of his body. He pressed his lips into her hair and inhaled her sweet scent.

"You did very well," she hummed, looking up at him. "I'm impressed."

"It was one of the most painful experiences of my entire existence," he admitted quietly.

Mel chuckled at his antics. She felt his fingers dance over her ribcage. "You managed quite well," she pointed out.

Just before they were about to leave the room, Lestrade stepped out in front of them. He smirked down at the petite woman and passed her coat over. She took it with a kind smile.

"I want to thank you for whatever you did to keep him in check."

They shook hands. "It was no trouble. You just have to know what to bargain with." She winked, making the man with greying hair laugh loudly.

She felt the arm tighten around her. She quickly dropped the hand in her grip.

"Well, thanks again, Mel."

"No worries. Have a good weekend."

They said their goodbyes and the consulting detective promptly dragged her from the room.

They entered the elevator. It was packed. Sherlock pulled her to the back corner. The redhead inhaled a sharp breath. The fingers at her side had traveled to the side of her breast, just barely caressing the flesh through the thin material. Several policemen turned around at the sound. Mel flushed and apologized quickly. The men shook their heads and went back to their conversation. The hand moved to cup her breast firmly.

Sherlock leaned down. His hot breath fanned across her cheek. A shiver of anticipation went down her spine.

"Tonight, Melina... You. Are._ Mine_."

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**Ooooooo ;) The sexual tension in that presentation... *fans herself* Oh lordy. Sexy elevator Sherlock, anyone?**

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	13. Chapter 13: Mood Swings

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

**...**

**harliesue:** Awe, thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it :) Hahaha I gather you are torn? Wanting and hating how much you want it? Thank you again for such a lovely review. I hope you like this one just as much ;)

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**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

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**WARNING: **THIS IS GOING TO GET STEAMY. RATED M FOR A LEMON.

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There was something quite satisfying about having complete power over a situation. Sherlock withdrew his palm from Melina's breast, completely aware of the airy breaths coming from her lips. The doors of the elevator opened. Several people moved inside, effectively pressing the woman flush against his body. The ferocity of his need strained against the leash he so tightly held.

He'd tried for so long to ignore the feelings he had for this woman; to disregard the quickening of his pulse whenever he was in her presence. Had she been any other woman, he probably wouldn't have thought twice about mocking her and walking away. But there was something so strange- so very odd. He wanted to pleasure her. He wanted it more than anything. More than cocaine; than cigarettes. He wanted to hear those breathy moans under the darkness of night- in his bed. Under _him-_ taking her over and over again, riding the precipice of bliss until they both released.

He'd imagined it. Oh, had he thought of being inside her; pounding. The images he concocted forced him to shower in icy water more often than he would like. It would take only minutes for his release. He imagined her lips on his body, touching where he'd let no one before. That little, tantalizing tongue of hers swirling over the inside of his thighs, just teasing. Teasing before she reached the ultimate destination.

Melina shifted against his chest- backside pressed intimately against his groin. The consulting detective flushed and quickly forced himself to calm. His eyes gazed up at the panels in the roof. Four. He counted the black speckles on the white paint. _Three thousand, two hundred and fifteen. _He counted again, even though he knew he was correct. _Three thousand, two hundred and fifteen_. He felt the dancer back into him just the slightest bit, forcing him to bite back a groan. A low sound fell from his lips. They received several judging glares from several of the overweight policemen. Sherlock raised a brow at them. _Oh the deductions I could-_

"Don't." The beauty against his chest knew his mind so well. "Please."

He exhaled slowly but didn't respond. He wanted this woman in his bed. Screaming. Begging. Perhaps both- at the same time. Sherlock grinned wickedly at the thought of her, spread across his bed. Hands bound to the headboard by the silk sash of his bathrobe. In hand, his leather riding crop. He could feel himself hardening as the scene played out in his mind. _Oh yes. That will be happening. _

He heard a sigh shudder from the redhead's petal soft lips. It was obvious she could feel him against her backside. Her hips gently undulated back and forth, side to side. It was barely perceptible, but she was making liquid circles against him. The sensation was a heady mixture of sin and pleasure. If any of the buffoons had been _looking_, they would see much more than they hoped for. The scarlet haired vixen pulled away from him as soon as the doors slid open. She took his hand, surprising him, and pulled him through the front doors.

She hastily called for a taxi, waving to one at the curb. Sherlock noticed how her cheeks were flushed the sweetest shade of pink; matching the color of her lips when they had their tryst in the conference room. He smirked salaciously at the memory. That had been one of his finer moments. Bargaining _her_, in exchange for _behaving_. It was such an rudimentary command. Oh, but how the situation had played straight into his hand. A black taxi rolled to a stop and they slipped inside.

The ride was agony. The beauty was gazing out the window, a little smile curling the corners of her lips. She was usually so eloquent and skillful at eradicating silences. But this one time, when it was so very important for her to speak- and... nothing.

Mel was mentally preparing herself. The short ride in the lift had shown her how very serious he was about taking her to bed that night. Her restraint- which was once a metal fortress was, well, ripped to shreds and left for scrap. She was quite aware that he was watching her. His silver gaze was trained on her every moment- the way her left leg crossed over her right. How her fingers brushed circles against the soft fabric of her leggings. She couldn't show fear. Her subconscious rolled her eyes. _Really? You're terrified. _The woman threw the thought away. She didn't have time for it. Because Sherlock was stalking her; a predator, cornering the inferior, weaker prey. Peering sideways, she caught his gaze.

_Yes. You are most certainly the prey right now._

She turned away, watching the people walking on the sidewalk. Mel had less than five minutes to come to a conclusion.

Did she really want this?

The answer was obvious. She wanted it more than anything, as she had said the night he'd found her at the estate. It would be the most pleasurable occurrence in her short existence, of that she was positive. The consulting detective hadn't done more than kiss her in the four months they'd been together, and she was putty in his- incredibly skilled- hands.

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of 221B. Mel exhaled shakily as she climbed out of the car, letting Sherlock pay the cabbie. She moved to open the door with shaking hands, her key almost vibrating before the lock. A large hand engulfed hers, steadying the movement so the key could slide into the lock. A muscle deep in her belly clenched. The scent of his expensive body wash surrounded her in a wave of promise and seduction. He pulled away to push the door open. He casually walked through the space before reaching the stairs, which he started to climb. He moved so slowly, the woman had to pause at the bottom of the steps. _He's giving you time to back out. The chance to run._ But she wouldn't. That much was absolutely clear in her mind.

She followed him up to his flat. Her heart thundered wildly in her ears. This was the end of their intricate, playful dance. The finale. The denouement. She hung up her coat. Sherlock unbuttoned his and threw it on the sofa with his scarf. It was an odd action and the woman immediately paused; he always hung his things up. Mel watched as the man silently moved through the flat to the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove.

Her brow creased. "What are you doing?"

"Making tea." There was definitely a smirk in his voice. She crossed her arms over her chest. He went through the movements, almost like the scene in a play. He was stretching out the inevitable. "Two sugars?"

"Please," she muttered. Oh, she was confused.

She drank her tea in the complete silence, sitting across from him in John's chair in the sitting room. Sherlock's stare was intense as he watched her throat each time she swallowed. He didn't touch his own.

"You're not going to have your tea?" She asked, her brow furrowing.

He smirked. "I'm not thirsty. Hungry, though... Oh, I am certainly hungry."

He wasn't talking about food. Not in the slightest. Mel blushed and finished off her tea. She took the cup to the sink and rinsed it out. Arms wound around her middle, palms against her belly, pressing her back into a hard body. He leaned down and pressed his cheek against hers. His skin was hot.

"I know you want this, Melina," he murmured, his nose gliding over the line of her jaw. "If you hadn't, you would've bargained something else entirely." His fingers, lighter than a moths wing, brushed her loose hair from the back of her neck. "You left it completely open on the table. You had to have known what I would choose. It was so vague, I almost didn't see it..." With the hair pushed to the side, he pressed his lips to the hollow, just below her ear. "You used my hormones against me."

She felt Sherlock's mouth smiling against her skin.

"You planned all of it, and I couldn't see past the simple exterior..."

He was right. She'd planted the seed in Lestrade's mind over coffee one day with John. It was over three weeks ago, and she'd wondered if the entire situation would've actually been put into place. She'd asked the detective inspector how Sherlock was doing with his coworkers. And he'd told her- all too easily- the stories and his numerous transgressions. The dancer had even placed the thought of visiting John's family in front of him. What she hadn't planned for, was how well everything would line up. The time off from work. John out of the flat. The presentation.

The pulsing of Mel's blood quickened as his hands traveled down her sides.

He shook his head. "You pretended all this time that you weren't ready for me-"

"You tried very hard Sherlock, I must say," she hummed. The redhead gasped as one of his hands cupped her breast audaciously, just as he had done in the elevator. Her head swam. Sparks lit up the nerve endings throughout her entire body. Heat pooled between her thighs instantly. "Sherlock-"

"You _tricked _me," he hissed accusingly, applying just a bit more pressure, punctuating his words. His teeth grazed the column of her pale throat. "And succeeded quite astoundingly, I must admit..."

She swallowed as his long fingers moved away. She turned to face him. "How did you figure it out?"

He smirked at the woman and walked back to the table, where it cup of tea was still steaming. He took a long, drawn out sip- allowing the tension to settle between them. "The door."

She raised a brow. "Door-?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "As if you don't know. The key you couldn't get in the lock. You rarely allow your emotion to cloud your actions. Meaning it was for my behalf. As I walked up the stairs, I considered every action you've made over the past months. That's when I remembered something John had told me."

When he didn't speak, Mel crossed her arms and smirked. "And what was that?"

"That you went to coffee with him and Lestrade."

She nodded. "Good. I was wondering if you'd figure it out."

He finished off his tea with one long swig. "It was quite elementary, Melina, but I do appreciate the effort you've put into creating a game for me." He placed his cup in the sink, purposefully brushing against her.

She shrugged. "I had little resources at my disposal. You would've seen anything in my apartment, and John would've tattled if he sensed something wrong."

He smirked down at her. "Oh, the power of suggestion. So simple... but it requires quite a clever individual to put it into place." He leaned down to press a kiss to her mouth. "Thank you," he breathed.

Mel smiled against his lips before he pulled away. "You're welcome."

He offered his hand to her. The dancer took it immediately, trusting him with every fibre of her being. They slowly approached the door to his bedroom. He opened it, allowing the woman to enter first. The room is just as she remembered it. The Periodic Table was still on the wall just behind the door. The bed was large and made from the darkest wood. The bedding was a deep burgundy silk. Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly removed his watch. He placed it on the nightstand and moved to unbutton his suit jacket.

"Wait...," Mel breathed, walking forward. He did as she asked, looking up at her as if he was confused. Taking a calming breath, the redhead stopped just in front of him. Hovering just in front of him, she watched as his gaze focused on her mouth. His were blown and dilated. His Adams apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. Then she fit her mouth against his. It was a testing action- just gauging his reaction.

A growl came from the back of his throat. In a sudden, unexpected movement, the man tugged the redhead onto his lap. She let out a sharp breath, hands coming up to his shoulders to steady herself. His hands were at her backside, fitting her against him. She could feel him pressing intimately against her heat. His fingers flexed their hold.

"This is what you want?" He asked, breathing harshly against her mouth.

"_Yes_."

"-Because once we begin, I do not know if I'll have the strength to stop."

"Please," she whispered, gazing up into the depths of obsidian and silver.

That was enough confirmation for Sherlock. He lunged forward and claimed her mouth with his own. He kissed her thoroughly, deeply. Branding her, being branded by her. Kindling a fire that had always burned between them; since the first day they'd met. After a moment's hesitation, the dancer welcomed him with the sweetest of moans. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched into him. Against him. He nearly roared at the intensity of the pleasure. Her fingers tangled in his curls, pulling him even closer.

He groaned when he felt her sharp little teeth tugging at his bottom lip. She pulled back, sinking her teeth into his flesh. He winced.

Mel stopped when she tasted blood. She lapped it up swiftly, grinding in his lap. She needed the friction. The metallic taste of iron heated her blood. Her pulse quickened. Sherlock growled and tangled his fingers in her hair. He yanked roughly at the length, making her gasp. The intensity grew as their kiss resumed. It was erotic. It was needy. It was open-mouthed, full of teeth and tongue. Her hands trailed down the lapels of his blazer, lazily stroking his chest. He nipped at her lips in response, urging her on. She unfastened the button and pulled away from his mouth, rocking back in his lap. Her hands slipped the black material from his shoulders and she tossed it to the floor.

The material of his white shirt stretched across his chest, straining against the little black buttons. His thumbs massaged wide circled against the small of her back. The sensation made her moan softly, tossing her head back. Taking advantage, Sherlock pressed teasing kisses to her exposed throat. Her fingers sifted through his curls, holding on for dear life as he nibbled and laved at her throat.

Then he sunk his teeth into the flesh- just a hairsbreadth from her pulse point.

Mel cried out, eyes widening. The heady mix of pain and pleasure flowed through her like nothing she'd experienced before. She could feel her blood flow from the broken skin. The man swooped down and lapped up the trail. Her eyes rolled back with the intensity if it all. At the same moment, he bucked up, pressing precisely where she needed him most. She felt a warm tightening in her lower belly- muscles in the deepest depths of her clenching deliciously.

"Quid pro quo, Miss McAllister," He murmured against her throat, causing a shiver to travel the length of her spine.

Exhaling shakily, she tugged at his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. She could taste her own blood on his lips. It did strange things to her frantic heart. Her palms came up to his chest, pressing. Humoring her, he fell back against the silk sheets. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. He waved a single hand, urging her to continue. One by one, her dextrous fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. Mel leaned down and placed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, relishing in the heat of his skin. With each button unfastened, she pecked and licked along the exposed flesh of his pale chest. This was the most she'd ever seen of him. His chest and abdomen were toned and muscular. He shifted under touch as her fingers traced the lines of tendons and muscle.

"Stay," she ordered breathily, pausing at the second last button to press a hand against his chest.

His lips curled upwards and twitched faintly. "Very well."

Thoroughly enjoying this shift in power, Mel pressed the full weight of her body against him as she leaned down to peck his lips. What was supposed to be a sweet kiss morphed into something else entirely. His tongue pressed against her lips and was granted entrance immediately. Grasping her waist, Sherlock flipped them so he was looming over her. His hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, caressing the bare flesh there. He moved higher until his fingers grazed over their first destination. He cupped the weight of her breasts. They were a perfect fit in his hands. She mewled her aching need, urging him on. He kneaded the flesh expirimentaly.

Mel squirmed under him, gasping for breath. "Sherlock... Please-" A sharp cry left her lips as his callused thumbs grazed her nipples.

"Patience...," he hummed softly, taking his hands away. The woman groaned pitifully at the sudden loss. His fingers clenched around the collar of her button down. Without a word, he tugged the material roughly, sending a small emerald button flying across the room. It bounced and rolled across the hardwood floor.

_Oh, my..._ Mel's subconscious sat up, attention immediately focused. "You don't have to..."

"I'll buy a new shirt," he said, calm and calculated. The only aspect that betrayed him at that very moment was his eyes; dark and wild. He moved onto the next button.

She bit her lip. _Oh my, indeed._

The sound of a door opening made them pull away.

"Sherlock?" There was a pause. "Mel?"

Mel's eyes widened. "What's he doing home?-"

But Sherlock wasn't paying her any attention. He stood from the bed and buttoned his shirt swiftly. "In here, John." Without a second glance, he picked up his blazer and left the room, the image of perfect calm and restraint. The dancer's heart clenched uncomfortably in her chest at the sight of him retreating. Slipping into the bathroom, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. _Jesus..._ Her hair was a nightmare. The skin on her face and chest was flushed pink. Lips were swollen. The bite on her neck was going to bruise. It was angry and red under a smear of darkened, drying blood. She combed her messy hair with her fingers, adding a small amount of water to tame the frizz. Once she'd wiped the blood away, Mel brushed her hair over the bite. The last thing she needed was the good doctor questioning her about it.

Taking a steadying breath, the redhead walked into the sitting room.

John looked as though he'd aged ten years in the past day. His fine wrinkles were pronounced from stress. His eyes were bleary and clouded. The bags under his eyes were a dark purplish-blue. He was sitting in his armchair. A tired hand ran over his face.

Sherlock was making tea in the kitchen and didn't look up when she entered the room. Her brow creased. She tried to ignore the sudden onslaught of terrible thoughts that invaded.

_He's ashamed of you._

_He doesn't really care about you. _

_He's been lying this entire time. _

She pushed the insecurity away until there was only a thin buzz nagging at the back of her mind. She knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help it. The ridiculous human anxieties rarely bothered her in the past. But now... it was like there was so much more on the line.

The dancer felt a smile lift her lips despite her train of thought. She'd missed John ridiculously and unabashedly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned around to press a kiss to his cheek. He jumped, obviously surprised.

"Mel?" His voice was raspy. _Didn't sleep last night. Alcohol on his clothes but not his breath: drank at least seven hours ago and brushed in teeth, most likely in an attempt to avoid Sherlock's deductions. Clothes are the same set he left in: didn't get the chance to change- _

"You alright?" She asked, moving around to sit on the arm of his chair.

Sherlock exhaled with no small amount of aggravation as he walked into the room. He was carrying only a single cup of tea. "Please use complete sentences, Melina. I believe they do teach that sort of thing in university."

Mel's jaw dropped. _What the hell...? _The sudden 180° of his attitude was giving her whiplash.

John's eyes were wide as he glanced between the two. When he saw the mug in his friend's hand, he reached forward for it, assuming it was for him. The consulting detective danced away to avoid him and took a long drink.

"I only made enough for one. Feel free to make another. I believe the burner it still hot." He moved to sit primly in his armchair. After taking another swig, he placed it delicately on the table next to him and grasped his violin and placed it in his lap. The redhead crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow in his direction. He pointedly ignored her and lifted the instrument to the area just below his chin. A brisk, frustrated melody came moments later as he pounded away at the strings with his bow.

The army doctor looked up at the woman who was perched on the arm of his chest. Her jaw was clenched- as if she was just barely holding back her fury. Expelling an exhausted sigh, he stood and took her hand.

"Come on, Mel. I'll take you out for dinner."

He felt her thumb brush against the top of his hand. "I'd love that," she hummed, smiling sweetly up at him. "We can catch up all night, if you'd like. I don't believe I'll have anything else to do."

The music abruptly stopped.

John looked over at his flatmate. The man was visibly holding himself back. His nostrils flared. The narrowing of his pale eyes was almost imperceptible, but the doctor managed to catch it. He looked down at the pretty friend holding his hand. Against his better judgement- he knew how jealous Sherlock could get- he flashed the woman his best smile.

She responded immediately, tugging on his hand and laughing airily. "Come on, Mister. Let's go get something to eat. I think you might need some cheering up." He nodded and followed her to the door. He quickly slipped into his coat once more and helped the woman into hers. The music- if you could even call it that- started once more, this time off-key and obnoxious. It reminded John of the time when Mycroft had come to their flat, asking for them to do "legwork" on his case.

"Ready?" He asked, finding himself smiling, despite his mood.

"Where are we going? Should I change...?"

"Do you want to go to the pub for drinks after?-"

The music cut off. Sherlock abruptly stood and placed his violin on his chair. "I will be accompanying you."

The doctor stiffened. "Uh, that's alright. We're just going to pop out." John rubbed the back of his neck. "And we'll be talking about what happened. It'll, you know, uh- bore you-"

The consulting detective's closed-lip smile was too bright and forced. "On the contrary, John," he started, bounding across the room to throw on his coat and scarf. "I feel that it might be quite..." He brushed unnecessarily past Mel and hovered just next to her, hot breath fanning the hair over her ear. "_Stimulating._" His voice was low in his throat and undeniably sensual. Sherlock turned and exited after several beats- wool coat swirling behind him. "Come on, John," he called from the stairwell. His shoes pounded the wooden stairs.

Mel was so very confused. His mood swings were virtually impossible to follow. She watched as John rubbed the back of his neck once more. He looked flushed. The dancer was shell-shocked. The doctor next to her sighed and tightened his grip on her hand in comfort.

"Well... I see that nothing's changed while I've been gone."

"Yeah...," she breathed. "I guess not."

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***Hides behind screen* Don't throw anything! I did it cause I love you guys, I promise! Please don't be rough on me. This is my first lemon that's more than just kissing. I'm kind of freaking out, so I'd enjoy some positivity. Oh lord, the anxiety is eating me alive. Let me know how I did...? **

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. **

**Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	14. Chapter 14: Dinner

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

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**harliesue:** Hello my darling :) Oh, how I adore your reviews. They're like drugs to me. It's such a sweet surrender, yet I'm always left wanting... ;D I apologize about the unhealthy relationship we seem to have. I'm dedicating this chapter to you. You're my longest surviving reviewer and have been with me since the beginning. I thank you so much for staying with me. Thank you for enjoying my writing. Your words make me smile. This chapter's for you :)

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**fairytale07:** Oh, thank you so very much! I'm glad you've enjoying my work so thoroughly. Haha was it a binge read? I do that much too often... xD Thank you for joining the party. I do hope that you'll continue to read and review. Welcome!

**LadyShadows410:** Thank you! I was quite nervous, but I'm going to get over it... it's just going to get hotter from here on out xP

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Thank you so much. Your previous review saddened me, but I'm quite happy last chapter was satisfactory :) Thank you for continuing to read and review.

**Cillathakilla:** Oh, it is most certainly a love/hate. I would love to throw Mel and Sherlock together in a closet and let them at it... but I don't believe that would be very satisfying for the readers... ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**croatian reader1:** Goodness me! Thank you for the translation xD Your words have elated my heart. I thank you profusely for the wonderful things you said. I'm just trying to do the fandom justice, as I believe all writers strive to do. That you for reading and reviewing. Greetings from Canada x)

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**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

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**WARNING:** LEMON AT THE END... YOU'RE WELCOME ;)

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The redhead linked her arm through John's as they exited the building. The sun was just beginning to set behind the horizon, casting a warm glow over the street. The air was crisp for mid-autumn. John flipped the collar of his coat up to break the wind. There was already a black taxi waiting in the street an Sherlock was in the backseat. His eyes immediately went to their linked arms. His jaw clenched. Lips pursed, flattening into a single, pale line. Mel raised a brow and released the good doctor's arm to slid into the taxi. The consulting detective looked undeniably pleased. He moved to place a hand on her thigh, but she shifted just enough for him to miss.

_I'm still upset with you_, she growled internally, forcing herself not to look into the depths of his silver eyes. The woman knew if she did, she'd be freefalling without a parachute. Then they'd be back to the beginning. If he never learnt when he was being a complete prat, then he'd continue doing it. She felt him try again- grazing his fingers over her knee- but she moved closer to John, who closed the door behind him.

"22 Northumberland street," Sherlock told the cabbie distractedly, staring intently at the woman next to him. Mel could see out of the corner of her vision that his eyes narrowed. He was attempting to figure out what was wrong.

The doctor lifted his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

She gratefully accepted the gesture. "So, how did it go?"

John snorted. "You probably know what happened already by- I don't know- staring into my eyes or something."

Mel chuckled. "Nope. I can just tell when you've had a hard day."

"And I'll believe that when hell freezes over," he laughed, flashing his best smile once more.

The redhead felt the consulting detective go rigid beside her. _Oh we're friends. Calm down. _God, the man was such a control freak.

"It was the alcohol," she admitted, shrugging. "You rarely drink, so something must've happened with Harry."

John sighed. He ran a hand through his short, cropped hair. "Uh- yeah. When I got to her place, I went to make myself a cuppa. I... found a bottle of tequila and vodka in the cabinet, behind the sugar." He exhaled, shaking his head. His thumb rubbed small circles into the woman's shoulder. "When I asked her about it, she told me to stop, "judging," her. I asked how the group support meetings were going, and found out she hadn't been in months..." The woman leaned over and wrapped her arms tightly around him. The tension slowly ebbed from his body in her soft embrace. "And then she kicked me out," he finished, sighing disappointedly. "Told me to go back to the people that would appreciate my "nagging"."

Mel giggled quietly. She pecked his cheek before hugging him once more, leaning her head on the doctor's shoulder. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I _adore_ your nagging."

John flushed but smiled nonetheless. "Surprisingly, that does make me feel better."

The taxi rolled to a stop at the curb. Sherlock paid the cabbie quickly and slid out, not bothering to wait for the others.

The redhead followed the men across the street. John went inside the restaurant. Before she could do the same, the consulting detective grabbed her wrist. She glanced up, eyes wide. He was livid. His nostrils flared.

"I know what you are trying to do, Melina," he spat through gritted teeth.

She scowled down at the hand that was wrapped around her wrist, just to avoid his gaze. "I don't know what you're-"

He growled and tugged roughly on her wrist. She stumbled to catch up with his long strides. He turned into the alley next to the restaurant. There was only a single street lamp above. The shadows descended around them. He looked every part the vengeful angel: all beauty and unrelenting ferocity. His hair was a halo of curls around his beautiful face. In one fluid movement, he pressed the dancer against the brick wall. Mel inhaled sharply.

"Sherlock, John's waiting for us-"

"I don't _care_," he snarled suddenly, leaning forward to press his palms on either side of her head, effectively caging her. The woman swallowed. Every hair on her body stood on end. She was nervous. The last time the dancer saw this side of him, they were in the elevator of New Scotland Yard, and he was furious that Lestrade had been "flirting" with her.

"Are you _trying _to make me upset, Melina?"

She shifted her weight from foot to foot and licked her lips. "What proverbial line have I crossed now?" She pondered sardonically, arching a brow.

He was grinding his teeth. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Melina."

She shrugged. "I suppose we can agree to disagree, then. Excuse me." She moved to duck under his arm, but the man was too quick. His forearms came down on the brick, forcing them even closer together. The consulting detective pressed the length of his body against her, pinning her to the wall with his hips. The scent of his body wash and cologne flooded the air around her. Mel forced her eyes shut.

_Stay strong. Stay strong-_

His breath was hot, fanning against her ear. "You're trying to make me _jealous_." His deft fingers stroked the length of the woman's jaw.

Her brow creased. "Uh- no I wasn't, actually."

"Your. Lips. Are. _Mine_," he hissed, punctuating each word by moving their bodies impossibly closer together. "Then you go around kissing John..." he scoffed. "The message has been received, Miss McAllister."

Her eyes fluttered open. "I wasn't trying to make you jealous. Honestly." And she hadn't... Had she?

His eyes were pools of molten silver. "Then you pulled away from me in the taxi... Do you _want _John, Melina?"

"No!" She cried, eyes widening. "Jesus, I was just upset about your weird mood swings, alright?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and regarded her strangely. "You did not understand what I was doing after our time in my room?"

Mel was thankful for the darkened alley. Her face was flushed red. "I- I... no. I don't know what you were trying to do."

The man inclined his head. "Ah. You must have been... confused?"

She snorted. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I required a reasonable amount of distance from you."

"Yeah. I kind of got that."

"-So I wouldn't ravage you in front of the good doctor."

Her jaw dropped with an audible _pop_. "Oh."

The smirk grew on his pale lips. "_Oh_," he copied, nodding slowly. "Unless you wish for me to take you in front of John. I did not deduce that you were an exhibitionist, Melina, but I suppose we could try...," he trailed off, shrugging nonchalantly.

The woman blushed scarlet. "Oh, uh- no. Thank you. I- I mean, _no thank you_."

Sherlock's lips twitched. He pulled away from the woman and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers. Mel's heart jumped into her throat. He'd never taken her hand in public before, unless they were running for a taxi. He tugged the redhead to his side, pulling them back into the safety of the streetlight. "Come. John must be wondering where we got to." Mel shook her head as he opened the door. She smiled softly up at him. Her face still felt hot.

She'd just assumed that he was angry with her earlier. As the woman thought back, she realized all the signs of irritation were from sexual frustration. Not anger at _her_. _Good, _she thought, smiling to herself. Her subconscious just shook her head in disappointment, pressing a palm against her forehead. Mel was pulled from her thoughts as the waiter at the door gestured for them to sit in the table next to the window.

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Billy." The waiter took the _Reserved_ sign from the table and ushered them to sit. John was already sitting there, brow creased with worry. The redhead slipped her coat off with the consulting detective's help and sat in the corner on the green leather bench. Sherlock slid in next to her and took off his coat. He unbuttoned his suit jacket so he could sit comfortably. The redhead flushed at the memories that flitted through her mind.

"Where did you go?" The doctor demanded. "I've been waiting here for ten minutes."

Sherlock sighed. "Melina and I had a disagreement. Something, I'm sure you're used to with your revolving door of girlfriends."

Mel smacked his chest and balked. He caught the woman's hand easily. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. He twined their fingers and placed them on the table casually. The dancer peered up at him through her fan of auburn lashes. Her eyes were wide. She sent him a look that was akin to a deer-in-the-headlights. He was acting so very strange. A faint smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.

John let out a little noise that sounded quite a bit like someone choking. "_Sherlock!_"

"John?" He raised a brow, glancing across the table at the doctor.

"Mel." Both men glanced at her. The redhead laughed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Well, if everyone's going to state their name, I'm going to do it too."

John chuckled at her antics and shook his head.

"Sherlock!" A burly man walked over with wide smile. He shook the consulting detective's hand. "Good to see you and your date again."

Mel raised a single brow. She'd never been here before. That's when she noticed the man was gazing quite intently at the good doctor. The woman shook with silent laughter. "_Date?_" She mouthed, grinning slyly. John flushed tomato red and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Angelo. How are you?" The raven-haired man next to her smiled up at the new arrival. The redhead was taken aback that Sherlock bothered himself to learn the man's name.

"Good, good." Angelo smiled. His dark brown eyes flitted to the redhead. "And who is this pretty young thing?"

The woman giggled and reached forward to shake his hand. "Mel McAllister-"

"My girlfriend," Sherlock stated. His thumb traced small circles over the top of her left hand. Mel's jaw dropped for the second time that night. Her mind went blank. It seemed that the man next to her was choosing to ignore her blatant astonishment.

Angelo looked floored as well. "Oh. I thought you and..." He gestured to John, who was attempting to sink lower and lower into the green leather bench. "You know... Were... _You know- _ah. Alright." He finally reached forward and shook the woman's hand. "Pleasure to meet you." John couldn't have been more red. If he was, his head might've exploded. He seemed as though he was seconds away from hiding under the table.

_At least I'm not the only one..._ Mel's mind sputtered. She smiled sweetly up at the man despite her thoughts. "Pleasure."

"Sherlock got me off a murder charge, has he told you?" Angelo beamed. "Kept me from going to prison."

The consulting detective sighed exasperatedly. "You _did _go to prison."

The large man shrugged. "Eh, water under the bridge." He passed them the menus. "Whatever you want, free of charge. I'll cook it myself." He winked conspiratorially. "Let me know when you're ready to order."

Mel nodded, glancing down at the menu. "Thank you, Angelo. That's very sweet of you."

He chuckled. "I like you." He turned to Sherlock. "I like her."

Sherlock's lips twitched into a smirk. "Yes, I heard you the first time. Thank you."

With that, Angelo walked back to the kitchen. The dancer laughed. "So what happened with that? You got him off a murder charge?"

He sighed. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, housebreaking."

"Oh." Mel chuckled. "So he went to prison... and he's happy about it?"

"So it would seem," Sherlock exhaled, as if the topic was boring him. He glanced down at his menu. "I'm not on a case at the present moment, so I will be eating in excess tonight."

"I'm not really hungry-"

John, who was no longer a vivid shade of red, scowled at the woman. "When was the last time you ate?"

She shrugged and thought back. "Uh... I ate some granola yesterday morning."

The doctor sighed. "Mel, you're a dancer for a living. You have to eat to keep your strength up. You probably burn more calories in an hour than Sherlock does running about in one night."

The consulting detective nodded sagely as he continued to read his menu. "That is most likely correct, John."

Mel's brow furrowed. "I'm not going to eat if I'm not hungry." Her voice sounded akin to a petulant child, even to her own ears.

"You're going to pick one item out of each section, or I'll order the entire menu for you," John threatened. His eyes narrowed, daring her to challenge him.

The redhead groaned. "I don't like feeling so heavy though-"

Sherlock peered up at her. His thumb was still rubbing gentle circles. "I know precisely what you're talking about, Melina." He glanced at John. "You're not her father, so do not address her as a child."

"But I'm her _friend_ and _doctor_-"

Mel snorted. "Since when?" John paled and looked down at the table, cheeks turning pink. Her heart thumped uncomfortably. "No, I mean since when were you my doctor?"

He visibly brightened, relieved. He chuckled lightly. "Since I've decided that you can't find the time to take care of yourself."

"Oh... Alright." She smiled and reached over to place her free hand over the army doctor's. "Thank you, John." No matter hos annoyed she was, the man was watching out for her. It was something she hadn't known she'd wanted. But now that it was happening, she couldn't imagine living without it.

Angelo came back, asking for their drinks order.

Sherlock tapped his thumb against the back of Mel's hand. "A bottle of your best Chianti and Sangiovese to accompany dinner. Right now we'll be fine with water, thank you."

"I'll be right back with that," Angelo assured before he nodded and left.

The woman was surprised. There was something quite alluring about a man ordering drinks for her. It had never happened before, but the dancer found herself flushing with pleasure. Sherlock caught the color in her cheeks and gazed down at her.

"What is it?"

Mel captured her lip between her teeth and turned to look at her menu. She willed her blush to fade, but it had other ideas. Suddenly, the man leaned forward and grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Do not bite your lip. You know what it does to me," he breathed huskily. The woman went pink and released her lip immediately. Angelo came back with the waters and quickly retreated, sensing he was disturbing something.

John coughed uncomfortably. "So... Mel, how did your day go at the ballet? Do you know what part you got for Cinderella?"

Sherlock released her chin. Grateful for the change of subject, the woman sighed. She couldn't help the face-splitting grin that stretched her lips. "You're never going to guess."

Sherlock made a small noise at the back of his throat. "Ah. That's what I deleted this morning. I was wondering what we'd talked about."

The others rolled their eyes in perfect synchronization.

"Fairy godmother?" John ventured, propping his chin on his hand. He looked exhausted.

"Nope," Mel sang cheekily.

"Step sister?"

She shook her head.

The doctor lifted his head slowly. His eyes widened. "Did you...?"

The dancer bit her lip and nodded. "Yep."

He let out a loud hoot, causing several of the patrons to glance over. He took the woman's hand and tugged her from the booth. Sherlock grumbled when he had to let go of her hand. Squatting down, the doctor wrapped his arms around the woman's upper thighs.

"John, what are you- AH!-" He lifted her easily and threw her up on his shoulder. He whirled around, spinning her through the air. Mel giggled and smacked his back. "Put me down, you brute!" Her bright hair swirled around them like a ruby curtain.

John shook his head. "You're Cinderella now. You have to get used to being swept off you feet by men."

Mel rolled her eyes and groaned loudly against his back. "You did not just say that."

He twirled her around once more before letting the redhead down. She staggered momentarily, giggling. Sherlock was at her side, pulling the woman back inside the booth. He wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his palm against her ribs.

"I gather this part was... important?" He tilted his head to the side, pale eyes curious.

"Yeah...," Mel breathed, attempting to right her hair. "It takes me from the Corps de Ballet and makes me a Principal with the company. It usually takes years for that to happen."

Sherlock arched a brow. "Well, either you are quite talented- which is accurate- or someone wants you to progress. Someone important."

The redhead paused in mid-stroke of her hair. _Why does that sound so ominous? The better question is: why didn't I consider that before? _"Uh... yeah. I suppose you're right." Her hands fell into her lap. Her face dropped.

John sighed and reached forward. "Hey, don't be like that. We love you. They love you. There's nothing wrong."

Despite Mel's sudden depleting mood, she smiled at his sweet words. Several moments later, Angelo came back with a small notepad.

"What would you like to eat?"

Sherlock passed his menu to the man. "A large ceaser salad... the lasagna... the pizza margherita... and the spaghetti bolognese, please. Could I have the dressing on the side for the salad?"

Mel looked up at him as if the man had just grown an extra head. _There is no way you're eating that much food._

"Of course," Angelo hummed, scribbling down the ludicrous amount of food, completely unfazed. He looked over at John. "And you?"

"The roasted leg of lamb with oven baked, herb potatoes."

The owner nodded, writing the order down. "And you, pretty lady?"

The dancer flushed. "The small garden salad-" John cleared his throat and pinned her with a withering glare. She swallowed, "Uh, and the chicken parmesan."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "She'll have a plate of fettuccine alfredo as well, please."

The redhead's eyes widened. "John!"

Sherlock smirked. "Thank you, Angelo, that'll be all until dessert." The man nodded and left, taking the order back to the kitchen.

"_Dessert_?!" Mel hissed. "This meal is going to last me a month!"

The consulting detective rolled his eyes skyward. "You'll survive. You've eaten less than I have this past week." He observed the dancer carefully, silver eyes scouring every inch of her. "Hmm... perhaps you could benefit to gain a bit of weight. It would give me more to grab on to during-"

John- who'd been drinking his water- spat his entire mouthful all over the table, effectively cutting off the rest of the statement. The elderly couple at the next table looked over with no small amount of shock and disgust in their expressions. The man apologized swiftly, coughing and spluttering. His face was instantly tomato red. "_SHERLOCK!_"

Mel went pink and smacked Sherlock's chest roughly. She moved closer to the blond man, forcing the arm around her waist to drop.

He frowned, rubbing his pectoral. He peered down at his empty arm dejectedly. "What did I do now?" He glanced at John, confusion written all over his features. "Not good?"

The doctor was trying to mop up the watery mess with the napkins. "Uh- no, Sherlock, not good. People don't say that sort of thing to their girlfriends. Or at all."

"You can just say things like that!" Mel growled, hitting his arm this time, punctuating her words. "It's crude!"

Sherlock shrugged. "It was a statement of facts, nothing more."

The redhead groaned, pressing a palm to her forehead. "I can't believe you sometimes."

He let out a substantial breath and reached over to pull her back to his side. Mel didn't push him away, but her arms crossed over her chest in frustration.

"I apologize," he breathed, pressing his lips against her temple.

Despite herself, the woman melted instantaneously. "Sorry for hitting you," she grumbled, rubbing her flushed cheeks. She was so embaressed.

He chuckled throatily and kissed her jaw. "I've come to the realization that if you hit me, there's most likely an appropriate reason. Or so John has told me." He leaned forward and trailed his nose against the woman's throat, just breathing in her scent. A delicious shiver trailed down her spine at the tantalizing action. A wicked smirk lifted his lips as he felt the redhead shudder. He hummed, "Are you cold, Melina?"

She shook her head slightly. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Hamish."

The couple looked over at John. Mel's brow creased with confusion. "I'm sorry?"

He coughed self-consciously. "John Hamish Watson. If you're looking for baby names."

Sherlock's brows knitted together at his words. He didn't understand.

Mel groaned and felt the unnecessary urge to have the ground consume her. "What is wrong with you boys tonight? Do you have some sort of bet on who can be the most vulgar?"

The consulting detective shrugged nonchalantly. "Not that I know of. And to think, I could've made money tonight...," he whined, wrinkling his nose at John. "Why don't you think of things like this?"

The doctor sighed. "Cause I'd blow my entire life savings in a week, playing against you."

Sherlock clicked his tongue, obviously unfazed.

Five servers approached the table, carrying massive platters. They unfolded small, portable tables and placed the platters on top, revealing a wide plethora of food. The scent was heavenly. "Extra cheese?" They asked, graters in hand. John nodded before either of them could respond. The plates were passed out and covered every inch of the table. There must've been enough for ten people, if not more. Surprisingly, Mel found that her stomach was growling. Angelo walked out, carrying their wine. He poured a bit into Sherlock's cup for him to taste. The man released the dancer from his side and took a sip.

He shrugged a single shoulder. "That will do. Thank you, Angelo." The owner filled their cups and smiled. He wished them a good meal before departing with his army of servers.

Sherlock hummed quietly to himself and tucked into his salad. Before Mel even thought about her food, his plate was empty. The consulting detective looked up at her judgmentally. "We are in a restaurant, Melina. It is customary that you _eat_," he chastised, taking a swig of his wine. Then he was moving on to his pizza.

"He's right," John mumbled around his mouthful of lamb.

Mel flushed and pulled her plate of chicken parmesan closer. The portion was absolutely massive. She cut a small piece off and lifted the forkful to her lips. As soon as the mixture of breaded chicken, sauce, and cheese hit her taste buds, her eyes fluttered shut. There were fireworks in her mouth, exploding with color and sensation. It was divine. The woman moaned softly.

Sherlock's chuckle broke the woman from her reverie. She peered up at him through her lashes.

He smirked. "If I had known that you would make those sort of noises, I would've brought you here months ago."

Choosing to ignore him, the redhead ate rapidly- finishing her chicken in minutes. She moved onto the fettuccine that John had ordered for her. The white sauce was heavy with garlic and onion. It was elevated by the flecks of roasted red pepper, adding a smoky flavor to the pasta. It was just as delicious as the previous dish. Little noises of pleasure and appreciation escaped her lips. She could almost sense the glares of disdain coming from the elderly couple at the next table.

The sudden rush of sugar in her system made her head spin and pulse quicken. The salad was light- the dressing flavorful and bright. There were red, green and yellow slices of pepper, accompanied by an arrangement of tomato and black olives.

Mel drained her glass of wine in one long pull. The men on either side of her nodded approvingly.

"I hope you're not a lightweight," John muttered, slicing through a piece of potato.

She raised brow at him. "It's rude to mumble."

He chuckled. "I said, "You must've been thirsty.""

The woman laughed. "Not exactly. Hungry, though..." She looked up at Sherlock, who was tucking into another dish- lasagna this time. "I was most certainly hungry," she finished, smirking. The consulting detective paused for only a beat- fork halfway to his mouth. He glanced sideways at the woman, instantly catching her reference to his words earlier. He ate the forkful and took a drink of his Sangiovese.

"Are you no longer hungry, Melina? What about desert?" He questioned, a sly smile lifting the corner of his perfect mouth.

She had a feeling they weren't talking about food in any way. She shrugged and poured herself another glass of wine. "I suppose I could fit some desert in." She lifted her glass to her lips. "I happen to be quite partial to anything with chocolate. Or strawberries." She took a sip and placed the glass back on the table. Her slender fingers came up to toy with the stem.

Sherlock smirked salaciously, eyes watching the movement of her fingers. "I concur." He finished his final dish without any problem, just as John fished off the last of his potatoes.

Angelo came back and Sherlock ordered a slice of chocolate cheesecake along with a glass of 2005 Moscatel de Setúbal, while John requested a tiramisu. The brawny man nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Is there really that much of a difference between '05 and '06?" Mel wondered, arching a brow.

She jumped as she felt Sherlock's large hand press against her upper thigh, fingers ghosting over the inside seam of her leggings.

"Yes, actually," he murmured. "A sophisticated pallet can tell the difference between each year."

He pressed his thumb against a nerve in her inner thigh, causing a gasp to fall from her lips.

"Hey, are you alright, Mel?" John asked worriedly, oblivious to what was happening under the table. "You look a little... flushed."

The fingers on her thigh flexed their hold, almost daring her to tell.

She blinked. "Uh... no. I'm fine thanks. Just the sugar going to my head."

The hand inched up- only centimeters away from where she needed in most. His pinky finger swirled tormenting circles on her inner thigh. Oh, the elderly couple must've been having a heart attack. She squeezed her legs together, trapping his hand from making any further advancements. Sherlock grunted softly.

Angelo came back with their desert and the wine. He insisted that they wouldn't be paying, and could leave after they finished. They thanked him and the owner departed.

Mel felt the owner of the offending hand shift next to her. His breath fluttered the hair covering her ear.

"May I please have my hand back, Melina?"

She shook her head subtly. "You'll survive," she hummed, throwing his own words back at him again.

The man managed quite well. He drank his wine and used the fork to spear pieces of cake all with his left hand.

"Are you ambidextrous?" Mel asked, reasonably surprised with his performance.

Sherlock shrugged. "It's beneficial to use one hand efficiently if the dominant is caught... in a tight place." The redhead flushed. She released his hand from between her legs. He smirked down at her and flexed his fingers, allowing the blood to flow back into the joints. He picked up his glass of wine and took a long, drawn out sip. She rolled her eyes and picked up his fork, taking a large bite of the chocolate cheesecake. She moaned. It was delicious and silky.

John cleared his throat as he finished off his tiramisu. "What are you two whispering about over there?"

"Nothing," they said in unison, finishing off their own desert.

"Ready to go, then?"

They nodded. Sherlock helped the woman into her leather jacket, pausing to smoothe the material over her shoulders and back. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, making her shiver. He pulled away to button his blazer, slip on his wool coat and tie his scarf. He bid Angelo farewell and took Mel's hand, pulling her to the door.

"Come, John. I believe we've spent enough time masticating," Sherlock drawled.

The blond man's jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"

Mel exhaled delicately. "Masticating is the act of chewing. Synonyms include munching, grinding-"

"I get it, I get it!" The doctor groaned as they walked out onto the street.

The sky was dark, showing that their dinner had stretched far into the night. The moon was high above- pale face casting an illuminating glow on the pavement. The traffic was slowing down, cars and taxis flowing by. The consulting detective called for a taxi. One stopped at the curb and John opened the door for them. They piled in.

Once they were back home, Mel went up to her apartment. Walking through the main room, she stripped off her grey leggings- jumping across the hardwood floor until they were off. She threw them into the wicker hamper in the corner of her room. The dancer hummed softly under her breath and unbuttoned the green dress shirt, throwing it in after the leggings. She walked across to the bathroom and started the water, letting it heat up. She saw a dark shadow pass through the main room. The dancer frowned and reached into the shower, shutting the water off.

"Hello?" She called, padding barefoot into the kitchen. "Is someone there?"

The floorboard depressed just behind her. The redhead gasped and whirled round. She reached over and flicked on the light.

"Sherlock?! What the hell! I locked the door-"

"And I picked the lock," he murmured, not at all repentant. Sherlock's gaze trailed down and heated, taking in her state of undress. "Have I interrupted you, Melina?"

"You've _scared _me, if that's what you mean!" She breathed, pressing a palm against her heart. She flushed and looked down at herself. She was virtually naked in front of the object of her desire. "I'm going to shower," she said, shaking her head. "I'll be locking the door. If you choose to make the same decision you just did, I won't let you touch me for a month. Do you understand?"

Sherlock looked taken aback by her threat. It took several moments, but his eyes narrowed challengingly. "You wouldn't-"

She stalked back into the bathroom. "You want to test that theory, Mr. Holmes?" She asked, annoyance coloring her tone, shrouding the unbearable embarrassment that was flooding her system. She slammed and locked the door behind her.

Her heart was still thudding wildly against her ribcage. She could hear the pulsing of her blood in her ears. Mel pressed her back against the door, sighing with relief. That night, so many years ago, drifted through her mind. The gunshots. The shadows. Inhaling a calming breath, the redhead stripped off her black sports bra and panties before hopping into the shower. The scent of sweet shampoo soothed the memories from her mind. She went through the motions: washing hair, shaving legs, conditioning, scrubbing. The knowledge that Sherlock was just on the other side of the thin wall made the shower one of the fastest in her existence. Turning off the water in record time, the woman wrapped a towel around herself. Mel brushed her teeth thoroughly, removing all traces of dinner. She towel dried her hair and combed it through with her fingers.

Wrapping her towel tighter around herself, she picked up her used undergarments and walked into the bedroom. Sherlock was there, laying across her bed. There were no lights on, so the only source of illumination was from the moon. Fingers of silver light sifted through the deep purple curtains. The man's hands were behind his head, fingers enlaced. Feet reached the end of the bed, even though it was a Queen size mattress. He was the picture of ease. Or would've been, if it wasn't for the eyes of liquid silver, following the redheads movements. She placed her bra and panties in the laundry basket and walked to the wardrobe. She pulled out a long sleep shirt that would go down to her knees.

"Turn around," she ordered, glaring at the man who was laying on her bed.

His pale lips twitched with mirth. "I'd rather watch."

Exhaling tiredly, Mel moved to return to the bathroom.

"_Fine_," Sherlock growled. He made a show of closing his eyes.

"Thank you," Mel hummed softly, swiftly pulling the shirt on, along with a pair of clean panties, which happened to be black and lacy. They were her best pair.

"Done?"

"Yes."

He opened his eyes. "I've already seen you naked, Melina."

"I'm aware. But I was unconscious, and you did not have my permission," she pointed out, gazing over at the handsome man.

Sherlock chuckled drily. "A good point well made, Miss McAllister, as always."

She sighed. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Almost eleven."

"Is it too early to sleep?"

"No." The consulting detective smirked. "May I stay with you tonight?"

She flushed and crawled into bed on her hands and knees. "Would you like to?"

He paused for a single beat. "Yes... but I believe that answer is obvious."

Mel smiled softly and pressed her lips to his perfect mouth. "Then yes, you may."

He grinned against her lips and kissed her once more before slipping away. He unfastened his watch and placed it on the bedside table, near the alarm clock. His fingers came up to his throat to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Wait," she breathed, reaching forward. "Let me."

He watched the woman carefully as she moved into his lap, straddling him. Mel could feel him hardening against her thigh, forcing an airy breath from her lips. Her hands barely wavered as they skillfully unbuttoned his dress shirt. They could've been the hands of a practiced surgeon or a sculptor. She brushed the material from his shoulders once she'd finished. The redhead rocked back in his lap to fold his shirt and place it carefully on the nightstand.

Sinewy muscle covered every inch of his upper body. Mel reached forward and brushed her fingers across his clavicle; barely touching him. His pale skin was almost radiant in the light of the moon. His glowing eyes watched her circumspectly. She leaned forward to kiss his throat. She could feel his pulse. It was surprisingly rapid, drumming along at an unsteady pace. Humming softly, she kissed just under his chin. Then the hollow of his ear. Her hands came up to his chest, lightly playing with the smattering of hair there.

Sherlock's forefinger and thumb grasped the woman's chin and tilted her head up. He hovered there for a moment, just testing the space between them. Then he swooped forward and captured her lips with his own. Her moans were hushed. He swallowed the noises deftly and slipped his tongue between her petal soft lips, deepening the contact.

"Sherlock... Ah!" She gasped as he lifted her, hands under her bare thighs.

He deposited her in the middle of the bed, mouth sealed over hers. He sat astride the woman, cupping her face in his large hands. The kiss intensified. Mel's breasts brushed against his naked chest- yearning for more contact. The thin material of her sleep shirt did little to keep him away. His mouth consumed all semblance of thought she had left, leaving her wanton and needy. He slid a leg between hers, effectively pinning her to the mattress. She could feel his arousal- hard and hot against her hip. The dancer inhaled sharply as the man applied more pressure with his leg, brushing directly against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. White-hot pleasure shot through her. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"Shhh...," he hushed, grasping the nape of her neck with both of his hands. He stared imploringly into her eyes, hovering above her. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she breathed, voice rough with need.

"Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you."

Her brow furrowed. "Do what-" She gasped, words immediately silenced. His thigh brushed across the bundle of nerves, more insistently this time. Her back arched with intense pleasure. Before she could cry out, his lips captured hers and swallowed the noise.

His hot breath was coming in irregular pulls, washing over her face. "You have to be _quiet_." He punctuated the last word with another brush of his leg, sending the redhead reeling. He clicked his tongue. "And _still_." Brush. She quivered and gasped. Fingers of pleasure trailed down her spine. Shaking his head, Sherlock reached down and grasped the woman's hip, stilling her movements.

There was a tightening, deep inside her belly. Her muscles clenched. Something lit inside Mel, like a flame to dry brush. She gasped, eyes widening.

"Sherlock..."

"Shh, love. Just breathe."

There was that word. It'd been so long since he'd said it. The hand that wasn't pinning her to the bed cupped her breast. His thumb brushed across her nipple, making it pebble. His mouth lowered to hers. He ravaged her senses, devouring any space that was left between them. Their tongues tangled, battling for dominance.

He was playing her like a violin. He knew every string to pull to create the perfect melody; the perfect reaction. Her body was strung so very tight- so close to breaking.

"Are you ready, Melina?" He asked, breathing against her lips.

Her eyes were wide. "I- I..."

"_Breathe_," he ordered. She obeyed him instantly.

It happened all at once. His teeth grazed the pulse point in her throat. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, his other hand joining in. He pressed his thigh against the bundle of nerves.

The tightly wound string in the pit of her belly snapped. Mel's back arched off the bed. White light came from behind her eyes. It took her mind to a place where there were no problems or deductions. She floated away from her body. She gasped for breath. Then was back, her consciousness slamming back into place. There was a wildfire flaming through her blood. In singed her tingling flesh, licking the surface of her nerve endings.

Sherlock's arms were around her instantaneously.

Then he was kissing her. Her closed lids. Her furrowed brow. The line of her jaw. They were feather light, but each one sent little jolts singing through her body. Mel clung to him like a lifeline. Her fingers grasped the curls at the base of his head, nails scraping against his scalp. Little shockwaves had her trembling against him. Her other hand was at his naked back.

Sherlock shifted, moving to lay against the mountain of pillows. Mel laid across his chest, just breathing deeply. She'd never experienced anything so... intense. Her head was pressed over his heart, scarlet hair splayed across his pale chest.

"Thank you," she hummed, not knowing what else to say.

The consulting detective chuckled throatily and slipped the duvet over them. The sound reverberated through her, fanning the embers deep in her belly. The ache between her thighs resurfaced.

"You are most certainly welcome."

Her eyes were drifting shut. Exhaustion weighed her limbs. "I didn't know it was going to be like that."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "This isn't even close to what I have planned for you, Melina. There's so much more." She squirmed. Her knee came into contact with something hard. Sherlock grunted and stilled her movements with a hand to her hip. "Sleep. We can try something else tomorrow, if you're so eager." He sounded smug, but his voice was tight, as though he was barely restraining himself.

Mel sighed sleepily. "Alright. Goodnight, Sherlock. Sleep well." Her head nuzzled against his hard, muscular chest.

The hand on her hip flexed, tightening its hold. "Goodnight, Melina."

More tired than she realized- exhausted from the long day of emotional, mental, and physical stress- she drifted to sleep in his warm arms. Her lips curled into a smile. The last thing she felt was his lips against her hair.

"You are mine, Melina."

Then the world faded away.

* * *

***Grins wickedly* Well... THAT happened... ;) Let me know if you liked it! **

**P.S. Should I make this M rated? **

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. **

**Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	15. Chapter 15: Naked

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

**...**

**mussymay14:** Thank you! Here is another update :)

**croatian reader1:** You're welcome and thank you, haha. My goodness, you're making me feel popular! It's lovely that you've spoken about me to your friends and I hope they come to hang out :) I know that Croatia is near Hungary and Austria, as well as being across the Adriatic Sea from Italy :D Thanks for reviewing!

**MoonDrop162:** Goodness me, this was a long review. Thank you so much for the kind words! It makes me quite glad that some of my readers are catching the nuances I've written into the story (the character profiles of Sherlock and Mel balancing each other, being the same yet completely opposite, as well as her flaws). I'm not sure if the "instant shagging" was a positive or negative comment, so I will remind you that they haven't slept together yet if you're upset, and say thank you if it was meant optimistically ;D I'm honored that you would consider my work even in your top ten Sherlock fics, so top three or five is astounding and mindboggling to me. Thank you for everything you wrote, and I will be eagerly awaiting another review, if you wish to bestow another upon me. Thank you once, more, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

**harliesue:** Hello once again my darling! Oh, your reviews make me so very happy. _Your writing is a tour de force for the fandom:_ Oh dear, I don't believe I'm worthy of that statement. I'm just an eighteen year old girl who has the dream of being a writer one day, if I'm being completely honest. I try to live up to the expectations of the fandom, and it's amazing readers. That's what keeps me writing, even when I've had a terrible week. It's all of you :) I adore you as well, of which I'm sure you're already aware. Perhaps I'll begin to that with my chapters, give them off the reviewers that stay with me the longest ;D Haha. Thank you once against for your eloquent words that have lifted my spirits! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**BookwormStrawberry:** Thanks for clearing this up! I've never been quite sure, cause some writers consider kissing to be M rated... but honesty, I think that's ridiculous. Thanks for letting me know!

**Jo Gurtrude:** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter. Your question: I'm most certainly not a ballerina. Not enough coordination, and all that nonsense ;D My good friend is a dancer. She told me the terms and explained them long ago, and they've been floating around my mind... until I wrote this, I guess. To make sure that everything I remember is correct, I usually Google it and go to the Royal Ballet, NYC Ballet and Australian Ballet websites, as well as watch the videos on their Principal dancers and soloists. It's quite a bit of work and it takes time, but I believe it's worth it in the end :)

**Majin Micha:** Hahaha I'm glad you enjoyed that bit ;D Thank you for continuing to read and review!

**IKhandoZatman:** Thanks for your input and for reviewing!

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Thank you for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well xD

**Gwilwillith:** Thank you so much! I'm glad that you still like my work.

**Lunaconspiracy365:** Thanks for letting me know :)

**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

The muted light of morning filtered through the drapes covering the window, stirring Mel from a dreamless night of sleep. She slowly opened her eyes, groaning softly. She felt hot- almost unbearably so. The woman glanced down. A sleeping Sherlock Holmes was wrapped all around her. He had pulled her against his chest during the night, hands splayed across her flat belly. His long legs tangled with hers, making it virtually impossible to move away. The redhead shifted under the covers, trying not to disturb the man holding her. His grip tightened, sensing she was moving away. Sherlock let out a deep sigh and settled closer. His head was buried in the woman's hair, lips against the nape of her neck. His hot breaths came in deep, relaxed pulls.

Mel took one of his large hands that was at her stomach and brought it to her lips, placing a sweet kiss at the center of his palm.

He let out a little groan. "Melina...?"

The redhead turned in his arms to face him. His pale eyes were foggy with sleep. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. He met her gaze through heavy-lidded eyes. His raven hued curls were in complete disarray and resembled a wild crown around his beautiful face. He lifted a hand from the woman's waist to run his fingers through the tousled length, messing it even further.

"Hey," she breathed, smiling softly. "How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well." His lips curled up sleepily. "It would seem that I always sleep well when you accompany in bed, Melina."

The dancer's laugh was hushed as she lifted her head, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Am I that boring?"

"Not in the slightest," he murmured, leaning forward. Sherlock grazed his nose along her jaw, eliciting a shiver from her. "I only intended that you have procured the skill of calming me."

She found herself smiling coyly. "So... I'm boring?" She bit her lip, grinning.

The consulting detective's eyes darkened instantly. "Do not bite your lip, Melina."

She could feel his hard length against her thigh. She flushed and peered up at him through her lashes. "Sherlock-"

"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson screamed from the flat below. "You've got another one!"

Sherlock growled with no small amount of exasperation and rolled out of the bed. Mel watched as he took the white bed sheet and wrapped it around his frame. Her eyes widened. _Where did his pants go? What...?!_

He waddled to the door- movements restricted by the toga-like wrap he'd constructed for himself. The image was ridiculous. He paused; fingers wrapped around the doorknob. At the last moment, he quickly shuffled back the woman and kissed her soundly on the lips. His hands cupped her throat, holding her in place. The sheet around him shifted- mere seconds from falling away. His tongue breached her lips and plundered the expanse of her mouth; equal parts searching and consuming. All too soon, he was walking away, moving through the main room.

"Be downstairs in five minutes, Melina," he ordered from the front door, voice once more authoritative- completely lacking emotion. Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

The redhead sighed and rolled onto her back. Her fingers moved to her lips, which were pulsing from the sudden, delicious, pressure of his mouth. Oh, that mouth. She wanted it everywhere. Over her body. Licking. Biting. She shivered at the thoughts that flooded her mind. Knowing she didn't have much time, the woman slid out of bed. Her gaze trailed to the ground. Sherlock's black slacks were perfectly folded- a pair of navy boxer-briefs laying atop them. The pile stared at her mockingly as she lifted her sleep shirt over her head and threw it in the hamper. She'd slipped into a bra just as her phone buzzed, alerting that she had received a text. Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, the woman picked up her mobile from the dresser.

**_4 NEW TEXT MESSAGES_**

Cursing, Mel went through the ones she'd missed from the day before.

**2:56 PM**

**Hey babe, how'd it go with the BF?**

**-A**

**...**

**4:01 PM**

**You ok?**

**-A**

**...**

**9:22 PM**

**Hey Mel, Anna's freaking out. Please call, let us know you're alive. PLEASE. T_T**

**-R**

**...**

**8:14 AM**

**Hey its Leo. I was wondering if u wanna get some coffee with me today? Let me know :) **

**_-_****LA**

**...**

Mel sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

**I'm fine, Anna. Sherlock just got in trouble at work. Would you like to have lunch today?**

She sent it off and quickly wrote a similar message to Rex. Biting her lip, the dancer considered Leo's text. _What's the worst that could happen? _Her subconscious shrieked like a banshee as she texted the man back.

**Sure. Do you have anywhere in mind?**

Seconds later, her phone vibrated.

**8:18 AM**

**I was thinking _Kaffeine_? They've got great drinks and even better prices ;P**

**_-_****LA**

...

**8:20 AM**

**The one on Great Titchfield Street?**

**-MM**

**...**

**8:21 AM**

**Yep! I'll swing by and pick you up at 9? **

**-LA**

**...**

**8:23 AM**

**Sounds good. My place is at 221B Baker Street.**

**-MM**

**...**

**8:24 AM**

**Awesome! See you then! :D**

**...**

Smiling to herself, Mel walked back to the closet and picked out a pretty lilac dress and a pair of grey tights. It was formfitting and reached just above the knee. The neckline was high and it was sleeveless. The outer layer was made of a delicate lace and a white shift dress lined the inside. She finished the outfit with the pearl earrings Sherlock had given her and a pair of black flats. Padding over to the bathroom, the dancer combed her long hair up into a bun, twisting it loosely on the crown of her head. Several unruly tendrils fell out, curling around her face. She applied a light, shimmering eyeshadow to her lids along with liquid liner and mascara. A berry lip stain finished the look.

Glancing down at her phone, Mel hurried to the door, slipped on her leather jacket, and grabbed her bag. Just as she ran down the stairs, she heard knocking at the front door.

"Just a minute!" She called just before popping her head into the boys' flat. "Sherlock? I'm going out-" She stopped. "Oh sorry..."

There was another man in the apartment. He was sitting on a kitchen chair in the middle of the room, facing towards the fireplace. The man turned. He was heavy set and breathing in somewhat alarming patterns. His face was red, with the slightest tinge of an unhealthy purple.

"Uh... hello," he grunted, looking the woman over with beady eyes. "Who might you be?"

"Mel," she uttered, smiling kindly. She walked in just enough to shake his hand. The redhead couldn't help notice the hot, clammy grip and cringe internally. "And you are?"

"No one of importance," Sherlock stated, shuffling into sight- bed sheet still wrapped around his shoulders. "Melina." He scowled. "When I said "five minutes" I did not imply _twenty_."

The woman had to bite back a nasty retort.

"What did you say? _No one of importance_?" The red-faced man choked out, incredulous.

Sighing, Mel adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "I'm going to coffee with a friend. I'll see you later."

"Mel?" A voice called from the stairwell. The woman froze. Footsteps sounded on the steps.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Your friend is _male_?"

Her heart thudded wildly in her ears. "I _do_ have friends that are male, Sherlock-"

"You're not going."

She was taken aback by that. "_Excuse me_?"

"You. Are. Not. Going," he spat, punctuating each word with a step in her direction. His eyes flashed, emanating danger.

The woman would've laughed at the image he made if she wasn't fuming mad. His hair was still rumpled and he was stark naked, wrapped only in a sheet.

"Hey, Mel?" Leo asked carefully, pushing the door open. He looked good in a tight black shirt and faded jeans. His sun bleached hair was styled like he'd just gotten out of bed.

_Sherlock's looks better,_ Mel thought. She mentally slapped herself.

Leo's bright blue eyes widened as he saw the man in the white sheet. "Uh... I could come back later if I'm interrupting-"

"Don't bother, and you most certainly are," Sherlock hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. His nostrils flared.

Taking a calming breath, the dancer stepped closer to the blond man. "This is Sherlock-"

"The _boyfriend_."

Leo smiled widely, completely unperturbed. "Hey mate, how's it going?" He reached out to shake the other man's hand. "I'm Leo-"

Sherlock crossed his arms, tightening the sheet around him. "Leopold Arnalds, twenty-nine years of age, on loan from the Australian Ballet-"

"_Sherlock_!" Mel ground out through clenched teeth. "May I speak with you in the kitchen?"

"No-"

She took him by the elbow and pulled him to the kitchen. Once they were safely behind the wall partition, the Scottish woman smacked his arm.

"You're doing background checks on the people I hang out with?!"

He had the decency to rub his bicep, looking wounded. "You had a new number in your mobile."

"And my phone! Sherlock..." Mel groaned. "You can't go through my things like that."

"Can't I?" His brow furrowed with confusion. "John left his laptop for me. He said it was a good idea-"

The dancer crossed her arms over her chest. "He was out of the country yesterday."

"Oh." He shrugged. "We had a lovely conversation nonetheless."

Steeling her nerves, the woman stepped forward. "I'm going out with Leo."

"No you're not."

"Jesus, Sherlock!" She growled, clenching her fists at her sides. "Give me some space!" The words burst through the floodgates of her self-control. Her chest was heaving. "You have a personal vendetta against any man who _looks_ at me. Just stop, alright?"

He shuffled back, stunned. His mouth was slack for a fraction of a second. Then the mask of indifference was in place. "You need space?"

"Yes," she breathed, righting herself. "You're smothering me. You can be so... controlling."

"Ah." He nodded, barely inclining his head. His mouth was in a firm line. "So I gather you wish to have sexual relations with this man instead?"

"What?! No!" Mel rubbed her brow, exhaling tiredly. "I want that with _you._"

His lips pulled into a salacious smirk. "Good. Of that we are still in agreement, I see."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "He's an acquaintance from the Royal Ballet. That's all." The last thing he needed to know at that moment was that Leo was Prince Charming in _Cinderella_.

Sherlock was still smirking. "Very well. I shall give you your "space", as you so eloquently described. The only reason I'm allowing this," he hummed, walking forward. He pressed his mouth to hers in an unexpected, heated kiss. "-Is the knowledge that you will be in_ my_ bed tonight, not _his_."

Muscles deep in her belly clenched. She shivered. "You shouldn't have to _allow_ it," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly. "Stop trying to distract me," the woman snapped, stepping away. There wasn't far to go. Her back ran into the counter. "I'm angry with you."

He advanced forward, grinning deviously. "Wonderful. I have heard from John that make-up sex is quite rewarding."

Mel swallowed. "I'm leaving now."

"I can see that," he muttered, amusement coloring his tone as he watched her, absolutely frozen.

Taking a steadying breath, the dancer rushed past him. When she reached the sitting room, John was just walking out of his bedroom.

"G'morning, Mel. Where you off to?"

"Coffee," she breathed, taking Leo by the arm on her way to the door. "See you later!"

"Oh... Alright. Bye!-"

She shut the door before Sherlock would have the opportunity to come after them.

"Sorry about that," Mel chuckled lightly once they were out of the building.

Leo grinned widely. "It's okay. No worries."

He opened the passenger door to a monstrous black truck and helped her inside. The redhead glanced up at the flat window. Sherlock was watching through the curtains. His jaw clenched. She waved sweetly to him, but he didn't respond. His silver eyes flashed dangerously as he stared down at her. Oh, he was furious. Leo walked around to the driver's side and hopped in. He quickly started the engine and they pulled away.

"So your boyfriend seems like a cool guy," he said, chuckling.

Mel snorted.

"No, really." He sent her a sideways glance, grinning. "Isn't that the guy from the website? The detective blog... thing?"

Apprehension twisted like a white-hot knife in her belly. "Uh, yes. He is. Do... do you read it?"

He shrugged. "I've seen him in the paper. I'm not really into that kinda thing." He laughed easily, flashing another grin.

Relief flooded her instantly. "Good," she breathed.

Leo chuckled and pulled into a parking lot next to the coffee house. "Why is that good?" He helped her out of the huge truck, taking her hand. He let go soon after and motioned for her to enter _Kaffeine_ first. He opened the door chivalrously, winking effortlessly, making the woman laugh.

"His fans can be..." She paused, considering the best choice of words. "_Enthusiastic._"

"Ah."

They sat down at a table.

The place was crowded. The scent of coffee beans and milk was thick in the air. The baristas were calm and collected against the onslaught of customers and worked incredibly quick. Orders were shouted out systematically, drinks flying off the counter. Soft indie rock filtered through the busy shop, just barely heard over the roar of customers and the hiss of steam.

"Want anything?" Leo asked, smiling- as always. It occurred to Mel that she had never seen him without a grin.

Thinking back to the last outing she had at a café, she shook her head. "Uh, no thanks."

"They make amazing lattés," he stated, almost bouncing with excitement. "You have to try one."

"Uh, no thanks. I don't really drink coffee," she lied smoothly.

"Hot chocolate?"

"Nah, I'm good. You can go buy something, if you want," she said, taking off her leather jacket and bag, letting them hang on the back of her chair.

He waved his hand. "Nah, I'll wait for the line to go down."

They talked for hours. Mel found herself laughing easily with Leo. His personality reminded her of a golden retriever: eager to please and ridiculously happy. They talked about the Royal Ballet. Leo was indeed on loan from the Australian Ballet, and had been in London for a little more than a year. His girlfriend, Charlotte, was back in Australia, and the two were incredibly close. He explained how they made the long-distance relationship work- through Skype dates, texts, and phone calls every day. He pulled out his wallet and showed her a picture of his girlfriend. It turned out they also had a two year old son named Jack- of whom he also had a picture. They were a close family- despite the distance- and he went back to see them whenever he got time off.

After he got a latté- which had a lovely leaf pattern made from foam and milk- he told her about the ballet and what it was like to be a principal dancer. The hours were long, the work was hard- but you got the necessary recognition. They spoke about the production of_ Cinderella._

"The lifts are stupid hard," he chuckled, pausing to take a long sip of his drink. "But the audience always loves them."

"Have you done Cinderella before?"

Leo shrugged. "This'll be my third time as Charming."

"Oh wow..." She laughed airily. "So you must hate that you have a newbie to dance with."

"Woah, not at all!" He cried, frowning. _So he is capable of a different facial expression..._ "Everyone's talking about you. You're incredible."

Mel flushed. "That's quite sweet of you."

"I know," he replied, grinning cheekily, making the woman giggle. "Nah, but you're amazing. There wasn't really any surprise that you made principal so quickly."

"The ladies who didn't get the part seemed surprised."

"Well, they don't have a lot going on upstairs, now do they?"

The redhead laughed. "I wouldn't really know. They don't like to associate with me- being new, and all."

Leo smirked. "See? My point exactly."

The dancer rolled her eyes.

The door to the coffee shop opened. Two men in black suits walked through. The image itself wasn't alarming, as there had been dozens of businessmen coming and going since they'd arrived. The men nodded in her direction, chatted for several moments, then proceeded to approach their table. Both had short, military style haircuts. One was blonde, while the other had darker features.

"Melina McAllister?" The blond man questioned.

Her brow creased. "Yes?"

"We need you to come with us," the second man said.

"What the hell?" Leo cursed, his trademark grin fading. "Do you know these guys?"

"No, actually, I don't." She turned back to the men. "I'm not going _anywhere_."

The first man sighed. "He said you'd be like this." He nodded to his partner. "Grab the bag and her coat, we have to go. We're running late as it is."

Mel frowned. "Who said-?" The second man snatched her coat up and took her by the elbow, pulling the redhead to her feet. "_Let go of me_!"

"Please don't make a scene," Blonde muttered as they pulled her from the café.

"Mel!" Leo scrambled to his feet, knocking his latté over in the process. The brown liquid spilled all across the table, dripping onto the floor. The male dancer ran forward. He jerked the door open and rushed after the men, who were dragging the woman through the parking lot. The man with the darker features turned and lifted the lapel of his suit. A sleek handgun flashed in the sun, gleaming off the black surface. Leo raised his hands, bright blue eyes widening. "I- I don't want any trouble, man. I have a family-"

The man smirked and dropped his jacket to cover the handgun. "Good. Then run along." Then he turned away, helping his partner push a frantic Mel into a black SUV.

The redhead was shoved into the backseat roughly, her jacket and bag were thrown in after her. She rushed forward, but the door slammed in front of her. It was locked when she tried the handle. She pounded at the black-tinted window. Her hair had fallen from its bun and swirled around her face. Her palm stung from hitting the window. The men jumped into the vehicle and pulled away from the parking lot, tires squealing on the pavement.

"The windows are made of bulletproof glass, Miss McAllister. You're just going to hurt yourself," Blonde muttered. "Just sit back and relax. We'll be there soon."

Exactly ten minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, the car swerved and took a left on Constitution Hill. Mel straightened in her seat, craning her neck. Her eyes widened.

The crowd of tourists parted as the SUV approached the black gates of Buckingham Palace. The blond man rolled down the window and showed his identification to the armed guards at the checkpoint.

"We have Melina McAllister with us as well."

"Good," the guard said, glancing through the window to look at her. "Alright, go on through. He's been expecting you."

The gate slowly swung open and they drove through. The dancer's heart stuttered when the car pulled up to the front entrance.

"There will be someone to show you to the room," the dark haired man stated as he helped the woman out of the vehicle.

She glared at him and slipped her bag over her shoulder, carrying her leather jacket in her arms. "What am I doing here?"

He just smiled and motioned her to the door. "Please ma'am. They are waiting for you."

Sighing with annoyance, Mel approached the entrance. The large double doors swung open. The interior was lavish. The carpets were a deep scarlet and covered the polished marble floor. The walls were ivory and lined with various portraits, the frames of which were made of polished gold. A kind looking man in a suit walked forward and reached a hand forward. She took it, shaking his hand.

"Miss McAllister?" When she nodded, the man smiled. "This way, please."

Swallowing nervously, the dancer fixed her hair, pulling the pins out and combing it through with her fingers. She was thanking her lucky stars that she'd worn the dress and done her makeup.

The man ushered her through a long hall before leaving, turning the corner and disappearing. Mel smoothed her dress self-consciously and looked through the door. Sitting on the couch on the left side of a circular table sat John and Sherlock. The latter of the two men was still clothed in nothing but a bed sheet. They were giggling manically, trying to be quiet.

Running a hand through her hair, the woman walked in. "Hello, boys."

Their laughter quieted. John grinned. "Mel, you look beautiful!"

"Oi! Get your own girlfriend!" Sherlock chuckled playfully. It was so unlike him. The doctor's comments usually had him seething.

Her brow furrowed as she looked all around. "Thank you, John. Uh... what am I doing here?"

"What are _we_ doing here, Sherlock." John asked looking about, shaking his head. "Seriously, what?"

"I don't know," the other man admitted.

"Are we here to see the queen?"

Mycroft strolled in.

"Apparently, yes."

The two men were off again, laughing uncontrollably.

"Just once, can you two behave like grownups?" Mycroft implored, walking forward.

John inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. "We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Ignoring the quip, the man in the suit advanced towards the dancer. "Hello, Mel. It's wonderful to see you again." He took her by surprise and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You look lovely."

She responded in turn, quickly righting herself. "And you. I'd prefer it if we could go out for lunch sometime- not to be threatened with a gun and thrown into the back of a car against my will. This is becoming a bit of a nasty habit, Mycroft."

He shrugged contritely. "It was a last minute decision to bring you here, in hopes that Sherlock would be..." He smirked. "On his best behavior."

His choice of words had Mel blushing. "I see."

"I do apologize for any grievance my men have caused. I will speak to them as soon as we are done here." _They'll be fired or worse,_ his words implied.

She exhaled delicately and sat directly across from John. "It's fine. No harm, no foul."

The older Holmes nodded. "Either way, these things must be dealt with accordingly." His tone was not one to be argued with.

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft," the man in the sheet spat, glaring up at his brother from his seat on the ivory couch.

"What? The hiker and the backfire?" He scoffed primly and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I glanced at the police report. A bit obvious, surely-"

"Transparent," Sherlock agreed. His toes tapped a meaningless, anxious rhythm on the carpeted floor. John looked between the two men, absolutely confused. His mouth opened and closed several times, akin to the actions of a fish on land.

"Time to move on, then," Mycroft hummed, reaching down to pick up a pile of clothes from the circular coffee table. He cleared his throat and held them out the raven haired man- his intentions obvious. "We're in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, _put your trousers on_."

"What for?" The younger Holmes wondered, his voice petulant as a five year old child. His eyes did everything in their power to avoid looking at the pile of clothes.

"Your client."

He stood. "And my client is?"

Another man walked in, breezing past Mel. "Illustrious, in the extreme. And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous." He looked over and smiled. "Mycroft."

"Harry." He walked forward and the two shook hands amicably. "May I apologize for the state of my little brother."

"A full time occupation, I imagine," Harry said. Mel bristled. He moved to the doctor. "And this must be Mr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes." They shook hands.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?"

"She particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch," he stated. John shot Sherlock a look, raising a single brow. _See? Some people enjoy my blog,_ the look said. Harry turned. "Ah. This must be the lovely Melina McAllister I've been hearing so much about." He glanced up at Mycroft for just a moment, as if he was searching for validation. He took her hand and pressed a swift kiss against the back of it. "You're all the rage, or so I hear. _The beautiful American_. My employer is quite enthusiastic about your progress with the Royal Ballet. She's hoping to meet you at opening night next month. She's already bought her tickets."

Mel flushed. "Oh. That's nice of... her."

"She was wondering if you'd like to accompany her to lunch, so you may... I believe 'chat' was the word of choice she used."

"I'd be delighted." _If I knew who she was..._

"And Mr. Holmes the younger," Harry uttered, releasing the woman's hand as he walked towards the consulting detective. "You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." He walked past John, who pinned him with a glare. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work. Good morning." Just as he shuffled to the door, his brother stepped on the bed sheet. Sherlock was just able to wrap it round his waist before it fell to the floor.

Mel bit her lip; whether to keep herself from laughing or from moaning at the sight of his naked back, she wasn't sure.

"This is a matter of national importance," Mycroft hissed. "Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away," Sherlock bluffed, his voice arrogant.

"I'll let you."

"Boys, please. Not here," John begged, watching as Mel crossed her arms over her chest, obviously amused.

"Who. Is. My. _Client_?!"

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake-!" He turned back to Harry and righted himself. "_Put your clothes on_."

Sighing, Mel stepped forward. She reached out and placed a hand at the center of his naked back. He tensed, his body going rigid. It took several beats for him to recognize the touch and drop his shoulders.

"Please, Sherlock?"

"What do I get in return?" He asked pompously.

"The knowledge that you've done the right thing?" She whispered, moving closer.

"That is not a beneficial incentive, Melina," he hummed. His words were laced with heat. Sherlock Holmes was bargaining.

Exhaling delicately, the dancer looked back to Mycroft. "Pass me his clothes." Raising a brow, he did as the woman asked. "Can someone please direct us to an area where he can change?"

Harry pointed them in the direction of a washroom. Sherlock grumbled the entire walk- complaining about annoying brothers and anonymous clients. Once they were inside of the room, the redhead locked the door.

"Get changed, Sherlock. Please." She reached out, handing him the stack of clothes.

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "I'm beginning to find it alarming that you are holding sexual acts above my head to make me do things."

She shrugged. "I'm not offering anything, and I won't. You come to those conclusions on your own. _I _should be concerned that you just want sex from me..." Her words trailed off as the man stalked forward furiously. He took the clothes from her grasp and threw them on the marble counter. He planted his palms on the door behind her. His sheet dropped to the marble floor. The woman stumbled back slightly until her back was pressed against the door. He was completely, unrepentantly, shamelessly, stark naked.

"Is that what you've deduced? That I want you for _sex_?" He spat the final word like a curse. "For your body?"

"W-well... Yes." She forced herself to breathe normally and not look down.

He growled, fingers clenching into beside her head. "I want your body, Melina. But that is not the only thing."

She swallowed.

"You're everything I'm not," he breathed, leaning closer to her. "Don't you see that?"

"What are you talking about-"

"I'm cold, calculated." His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, making the pulsing of her blood quicken. "And you... you're soft..." He inhaled her scent, nose grazing the column of her throat. "Warm..."

Mel shivered. "So are you," she breathed, reaching forward to touch his chest. It was hot against her touch. "Please, put your clothes on. The others are waiting."

He ignored that comment. "You manage to balance being a genius and being... human."

"It's nothing-"

"It's _everything_," he whispered, watching her with awe. "I don't know how you do it. Deal with the idiots."

Sighing, the redhead gazed into his silver eyes. "They're people, just like us. They don't see the connections, so you must be kind to them. There's no point in being rude, because then they will never learn to be better." She smiled. "Now _please._ We're in Buckingham Palace, you're naked, you're pinning me to a door and we have people waiting for us-"

All of a sudden, he swooped down, pressing his lips to hers. Mel gasped as the man's skilled lips moved against hers. She reached up to grip his raven curls as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth. The dancer arched her back so their chests pressed together. His hands moved from the door. One came to cup the back of her neck, angling her head for deeper contact. The other went to her waist, holding her in place against him. Sherlock's length was hard against her belly as he rocked forward- thrusting unconsciously.

Mel's fingers laced in the man's hair, pulling him closer. Like clay, his lips fit perfectly against hers, almost as if they were made for each other. They moved together in perfect synchronization, tongues tangling and languidly tasting. Sherlock's long fingers playing with the hot flesh at the base of her neck. Her hands met bare skin as they traveled down, across lean muscle of his back. She moaned into his mouth as she traced the lines of muscle with her fingertips. A deep rumble sounded from deep in his chest.

She broke the contact of their lips.

"No more," she gasped, pulling away. "We have to go."

"No...," he wined irritably, hand reaching for her.

"Get changed," she instructed, before turning around to give him some privacy.

He groaned, but the woman heard his bare feet stomping to the counter. "You can watch. I'm not shy."

"We're in a bathroom, Sherlock."

"I'm aware," he hummed. The sound of shuffling clothes filled the small room. "Should it make a difference?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Yes it should."

He was quiet for several moments as he finished changing.

"May I turn around?"

"Yes."

She turned around to see him wearing one of his tailored black suits, this one accompanied by a matching black dress shirt. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. The muscles deep in her belly were pulsing and clenching again, the newfound desire running rampant through her blood.

"Alright, let's go."

He pressed a swift kiss against her lips, leaving her breathless.

"_Now_ we can go," he hummed quietly, a scandalous smirk stretching his lips.

* * *

**And here we go! Off to another episode! **

**P.S. Thanks to everyone who commented on the M rating. I will be changing it once they have... more serious... _relations. _**

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. **

**Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week**

**!**


	16. Chapter 16: Amnesia

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews: **

**...**

**IKhandoZatman:** I am aware that ballet is fun :) Thanks for reviewing.

**Skylar Winchester:** Indeed she is. Thanks for reading!

**watergoddesskasey:** Haha I hope that's an exclamation of excitement? If so, thank you.

**Jo Gurtrude:** Hahaha I may think about that, the lunch with the Queen. No problem! Leo will be alright, they'll have coffee or something ;P

**BookwormStrawberry:** I'm glad! Thank you for continuing to read and review!

**fairytale07:** I am happy you've reviewed again! Thank you once more for all the kind words :) For some reason, I like writing about domineering gentlemen who want to have their wicked way with my OCs ;P I will definitely be changing this to M, but all good things take time. Patience, young grasshopper xD

**xxxMadameMysteryxxx:** Merci beaucoup!

**Majin Micha:** Thank you and you're most certainly welcome. I'll only be containing the scenes that are necessary to the plot, then I'll be off on my own once more x) Thanks so much for the sweet words!

**Gwilwillith:** Thank you!

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Thank you! On to The Woman! Allons-y xP

**Slyork1991:** Merci beaucoup mon ami!

**harliesue:** Ah, hello my darling. Thank you- again- for your sweet words. You always manage to put a ridiculous smile on my face. "I seriously fangirl so hard over your story," Oh, I completely understand. I watched _Star Trek: Into Darkness _last night and almost died. It's totally the sexy man, not me. How can Cumberbatch be that beautiful while he's squishing head? I have absolutely no idea, man. "Honestly, I am going to be sad watching Season Three (whenever it comes out) because Mel is going to be absent from the show. Oh well. I will still have your writing to fall back on." If you somehow have connections with the writers of the show, I will try my best to write Mel into the episodes ;D Thank you, thank you, and thank you once more! Looking forward to the next review!

**Lift the Wings:** Thank you!

**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

Mel took Sherlock's hand and stalked back to the sitting room, knowing the others were still waiting. The consulting detective that trailed behind her was in an infinitely better mood after their time in the washroom. He wasn't grumbling or upset. As it happened, he had a rather large smirk curling his lips. When they walked through the doors, Mycroft glanced up from where he was pouring tea. His eyes widened noticeably. It took several beats for him to wipe away his obvious shock, replacing it with a cool facade of indifference.

"Thank you, Miss McAllister. I see that bringing you along was quite... effective."

She nodded in response, letting Sherlock's hand go so he could sit on the couch next to John. To her surprise, he wrapped an arm around her waist, hand resting casually on her side. He tugged her onto the sofa, forcing the army doctor to move over.

"I must admit that I am astounded with the influence you have over my dear brother," Mycroft continued, inclining his head slightly.

The redhead shrugged. "It's nothing-"

"Oh, but isn't it? It was impossible for our own _mother_ to keep Sherlock well behaved."

Mel pursed her lips and gazed over at Harry, arching a brow. "I don't believe that's the most important topic at the present time, Mycroft."

Smiling faintly, Harry cleared his throat. "Indeed."

The older Holmes smirked but said nothing more on the matter. "Tea?"

"Please," she hummed, reaching forward to take the cup of fine china he offered. "Thank you." Sherlock's fingers drummed a meaningless pattern against her ribs.

Harry sighed. "My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need- dear brother- your name has arisen."

"Why? You have a police force of sorts. Even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock hummed, as if he was actually considering Harry's words. "Not to anyone with a navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust."

John's brow furrowed. "You don't trust your own Secret Service?"

"Naturally not," Mycroft scoffed, as if the idea was absolutely ludicrous. "They all spy on people for money."

The doctor's mouth pulled up in a half-smile.

"I do believe we have a timetable," Harry stated, turning to look at the older Holmes.

"Yes, of course."

The rhythmic drumming against her ribs paused as the consulting detective watched the interaction between the two men.

Mycroft reached down and pulled a briefcase onto his lap. "What do you know about this woman?" He asked, removing a piece of paper from it, and passing it across the table. Sherlock extricated his arm from around the dancer and moved forward to take the paper.

The photo was obviously taken from a piece of surveillance equipment. It was a picture of a woman. She was undeniably beautiful, with her dark features and impeccable bone structure.

Mel's brow creased. Something in the back of her mind stopped, screeching to a halt. The redhead frowned.

She... _knew_ this woman. That face. It was so very familiar. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest, pounding noisily in her ears- effectively drowning out the others. They continued speaking, as if nothing was amiss. The dancer was sifting through her mind, trying desperately to remember where she'd seen the woman before.

"-Who is she?"

"Irene Adler. Professionally known as, The Woman."

Mel's mind was in overdrive. She didn't know where, she didn't know how, but she'd met Irene Adler before.

"Professionally?" John questioned, taking a sip of his tea.

"There are many names for what she does, she prefers Dominatrix."

"Dominatrix..."

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"How would you know?" Mycroft smirked, meeting his brother's stare easily. "She provides recreational scolding- for those who enjoy that sort of thing, and are prepared to pay for it."

Mel was barely listening to their exchange. She'd never felt so useless before. Her photographic memory was stuttering and failing quite miserably. She closed her eyes. Her fingers came up to massage her temples, which were throbbing painfully. This one woman- her _picture_- had the dancer reeling. Her heart was in her throat, fluttering anxiously.

There were only two situations where this would happen:

One- either their meeting was so inconsequential that she had forgotten, which was highly unlikely.

Two- Something terrible occurred, forcing her mind to erase all traces of the event, in the sake of self preservation.

The redhead went back and forth, considering the two possibilities. Both seemed impossible. But then... it had happened before. Her mind rarely took the liberty of deleting thoughts and images. But that night, so many years ago- the night when her family was murdered- she lost several hours. Between the time when she heard the gunshots, and when the police finally arrived. She hadn't told anyone before. She told the police that she'd waited that entire time. But in reality, Mel didn't know what happened. It was like a wedge- a block of some kind- was placed directly in the memory.

_Could this woman be that terrible? To be equated to the death of my parents? My brother?_

"-and I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?"

"You're very quick, Mr. Holmes," Harry praised.

"Hardly a difficult deduction," Sherlock muttered. The sound of pictures being rifled through filled the room. "Photographs of whom?"

There was a beat where no one spoke. "A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

"You... can't tell us anything?" John asked.

Mycroft expelled a heavy sigh. "I can tell you it's a young person. A young, female person."

"How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young, female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sherlock paused. "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?"

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her. Now. And in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, "know when you are beaten." He turned to the side, reaching for his coat.

"She doesn't want anything." Sherlock stopped at his brother's words. "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had o intention to use them to extort either money or favor."

"Oh, a power play...," the consulting detective breathed. Even with her eyes closed, the ballerina could tell he was smirking. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain, now that is a dominatrix... Oo, this is getting rather fun, isn't it!" Mel would've found his exclamation humorous if her head didn't feel as though it was about to be split open like a watermelon. "Where is she?"

"Ah, in London, currently," Mycroft stated. "She's staying-"

"Text me the details," the younger Holmes interrupted, grabbing his coat and moving to leave the room. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?"

"No, I think I'll have the photographs," Sherlock murmured arrogantly. "Come, Melina. We have a dominatrix to meet."

She didn't move. The pain in her head was overwhelming. She heard movement next to her.

"Mel?" John sounded worried. "Are you alright?"

The woman opened her eyes slowly. "I... I don't know..." Her voice was small, even to her own ears.

The doctor kneeled in front of her, brow furrowing with worry. He reached forward and took her wrist, listening patiently to her pulse. He glanced down at his watch, calculating the pulsing of her blood. "Your pulse is incredibly fast...," he breathed, peering up at her with questioning eyes. "Are you feeling faint?"

"A little," she admitted. Mel saw that the other men were too busy conversing with one another to notice anything was amiss.

"Headache?"

"Yes."

"Come on," John sighed. "Let's get you home." He helped her from the sofa, an arm wrapped carefully around her waist.

"-Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock asked as they reached the men.

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do."

"I don't smoke."

"Oh I know you don't, but your employer does."

They all exchanged as range of looks, from shocked on Harry's part, to bemused on Mycroft's.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not the commonwealth."

John stepped forward, still holding the redhead against him, rather pained expression etched on her face. "And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you."

...

"You're not going."

Mel frowned. "But I'm feeling better-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes skyward. "Just stay in the flat and do whatever women do in their spare time. Like... have a bath... or bake."

John snorted but quickly tried to cover it up with a cough. "No, Sherlock. Don't say that sort of thing..."

His brow creased. "Why not?"

"It's sexist."

He shrugged, entirely unrepentant.

The redhead- who had her arms crossed over her chest- exhaled softly, attempting to calm the sudden flames of anger that flooded her body. "You're going to see a dominatrix. I'd like to come along." _I know that woman and need to figure out what's happening to me. _

The consulting detective raised a brow. "Your presence may ruin the entire investigation."

"Then I'll be_ quiet_."

His eyes were rolling again. His hand snatched out, gripping her wrist. "I mean that you will distract me. You cannot be there, Melina."

"I'll wait outside, then," she growled, throwing her hands up, wrenching her arm away from him.

"If you do, I'll want to rush out of The Woman's house and ravage you in the street, and I won't care who is watching."

John went red and turned away, trying to give them a bit of privacy. He sighed and shrugged sheepishly at the cabbie, who was waiting for them to get in his taxi.

"I'm on the clock, mate. Get in, or I'm gone."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." The doctor gestured to the black car. "We have to go. Come on."

Glaring, Mel stalked past the men and slipped into the vehicle. They were silent on the way to The Woman's residence, excluding the conversation the men had about a crystal ashtray. Her head was throbbing. She found herself irrationally irritated with them.

"-Just here, please," Sherlock stated, pointing to an alley several blocks away from the desired location. Mel and John hopped out after him. The consulting detective was removing his scarf. "This will do."

"For what?" The redhead asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Punch me in the face, John."

The doctor was flabbergasted. "What? Punch you?"

"Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear "punch me in the face" when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

"Oh for god's sakes..."

Sherlock threw the first blow, instigating an all out brawl.

Seeing that the boys were going to busy for the unforeseeable future, the dancer walked away, turning back onto the main street. She'd memorized the address in the taxi. Biting her lip, she counted down the numbers on the houses, searching for the correct one. When she'd found it, the woman climbed the front steps. Taking a breath, she pressed the doorbell.

It only took a moment for someone to respond.

"Hello?" The voice was female.

Steeling her nerves, Mel started. "Hello, my name is-"

The woman chuckled. "Yes, I know who you are. She's waiting for you."

The door opened, revealing a pretty woman- also with red hair. For some reason, she was also familiar to the dancer.

"Please, come in. My name is Kate. I don't know if you remember me or not."

Brow creasing with confusion, the younger woman entered, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "What do you mean?"

Kate smiled, lips quirking up the tiniest bit, as if there was a secret she shouldn't tell. "You were quite... out of it... last time you were here."

Her head was pounding. "The last time...?"

"Please," the other woman chuckled. "Come with me." She walked through the hall, black heels clicking at the hardwood floor. Mel followed, glancing all around. The older woman led her into a large sitting room. "Sit. She'll be with you in a moment."

The dancer did as she was asked. "How did she know I was coming-?" She looked up. Kate was gone. Exhaling carefully, the redhead felt apprehension blossoming in her chest. _I've been here before. _The room was white with black and cream accents. The furniture was expensive and tasteful. There was a large ivory table at the center of the room, with a stunning glass sculpture sitting on top of it. There were matching crystal lamps, the beads stung in front of the light, allowing rainbows to gleam on the walls. _I've met these people before. _Her head dropped into her hands, fingers trying to relieve the ache in her skull. _What the hell is happening to me?_

The tapping of another pair of heels on the wood floor made her glace to the door. Mel's eyes widened.

"Hello, Melina," Irene Adler hummed as she sauntered into the room. Her ivory skin was completely bare, except for the pair of three and a half inch black stilettos. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

The redhead was at a complete loss for words. The signals to her brain were misfiring. " I- uh- what? Sorry?"

The brunette smirked. "Oh, my dear. Not even a kiss hello?" She walked up to the other woman and stood before her. Immediately, Irene straddled her, settling serenely onto her lap. "Come now. I miss your kisses."

When the dancer could finally breathe again, she gasped. "Who the hell are you?" She lifted her hands, about to push the other woman away- but decided against it, since she was naked and any touch would be incredibly inappropriate.

"Oh Melina. Don't be like that," she purred.

"Like what?" The younger woman questioned, shifting uncomfortably.

The brunette chuckled throatily. "So naive. So... _innocent_."

Mel scowled. "I don't know who you are. I can't... remember," she growled with no small amount of frustration.

The older woman sighed and rocked back in her lap. She reached forward and brushed the back of her hand across the redhead's cheek, jaw, and lips. "He said you forgot, but I didn't want to believe him."

"Who? What-"

"Shh...," Irene breathed, leaning forward. "No matter. We can make new memories. And these- I hope- will stay intact."

"I- I'm not lesbian...," Mel stuttered. Her heart was beating erratically.

"Mmhmmm... That's what you said the first time. I changed your mind quite quickly."

"What time? What's happening?!"

The dominatrix grinned. "Oh, all these firsts. We can revisit them all again. This is quite... Exciting, isn't it?"

"I- I'm in a relationship-!"

"What? With the _virgin_?" Irene laughed seductively. Her hot breath fanned over the younger woman's face. "We had more fun in that one weekend than you could ever have with that man."

"Just tell me what's-"

Mel's words were cut off. The older woman leaned forward and pressed her lips hers. The redhead attempted to push her off, but the brunette steadied herself. Her slim fingers came up into the dancer's hair, pulling the vibrant tendrils from the elastic and and hair pins.

Irene released her lips, grinning. "I always had a particular taste for redheads. Especially after you, Melina." The Scottish woman tried to get up once more, but the dominatrix fisted the length of her hair and tugged, forcing her to look up. "Ah, ah, ah. Come, now. Don't be like that. You enjoyed it quite thoroughly last time, if I remember correctly," she admonished. "Who do you think taught you everything you know?" Her blood red lips curled up into a sensual smile. "_Remember...,_" she breathed, pressing a chaste kiss to the dancers lips.

Mel was out of her depth. Her subconscious was gone- bags packed, gone without a trace.

"Just tell me who you are to me," she breathed, brow creasing. Her heart fluttered madly in her throat. "_Please_."

"And what would be the fun in that?" Irene pondered, brushing their lips together again. "Though... I do like to hear you begging for me, Melina." And again.

The pressure grew with each touch.

In that one moment, Mel gave in. She allowed the dominatrix full control of her mouth. The kiss was intense. Recognizing the accepted defeat, the brunette slipped her tongue into the younger woman's mouth- tasting and taking everything. The redhead felt her hands being taken from the sofa and lifted. Her fingers came into contact with the dip of Irene's naked waist.

"Come, Melina. Don't make me do _all _the work... kiss me. You know you want to-"

The dancer groaned softly. She was so very torn. Something inside of her snapped. Her palms flexed against the woman's waist, making her gasp.

"There you go, Gorgeous," Irene praised with a grin before lowering her mouth once more.

The kiss was languid and unhurried. The taste of oranges swirled Mel's senses as the dominatrix claimed her mouth. Hands splayed across the back of her neck, nails scraping the nape. She felt herself sliding into the kiss, into The Woman, before she could stop herself. The older woman knew exactly where to touch. When to stroke. How to tangle tongues, exerting the perfect amount of force to taste. Just as she was about to run out of breath, Irene pulled back. Her naked chest heaved with her breaths. Her red lipstick miraculously remained in place.

"Oh, I've missed that," she breathed, smirking. "He said I needed to be "gentle" with you... I don't see why, to be honest with you."

Mel frowned. "Who? Who said that?"

The Woman's lips drew up in a salacious grin. "You've met him before, Melina. Use that brilliant mind of yours." She hovered just above her lips. "_Deduce_."

Before the dancer could speak, the doorbell rang. Kate came into view in the doorway. "Would you like me to let him in?"

The dominatrix sighed exasperatedly. "If you would, please. I'm indisposed at the moment."

Kate laugh was hushed as she approached the door.

Irene breathed delicately through her nose and turned back to face Mel. "Your boyfriend has come to ruin my fun." She brushed her knuckles across the redhead's jaw as she had done moments before. "Shall I make him jealous?"

Her heart dropped. "Please... don't. He's very possessive."

"Oh I can imagine; if I had a girlfriend that looked like you, I'd be incredibly domineering." She shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd probably chain you to my bed. Whip you into submission."

Mel's face flushed at the crass choice of words.

"-Do you have a first aid kit?" John's voice floated from the entryway around the corner. The redhead's eyes widened. Irene smiled serenely and took hold of her chin, tilting her head once more so their lips would meet.

"In the kitchen. Please."

"Thank you..." Sherlock stopped, appearing at the door. He inhaled sharply. "_Melina?_"

The dancer turned her head, breaking the dominatrix's hold. "Sherlock- uh!" The brunette slapped her lightly across the cheek, dark eyes flashing. Mel's eyes went wide.

Irene elegantly rose from her lap, relinquishing her overwhelming dominance. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I'd presume." His voice was tight in his throat. The younger woman attempted to meet his gaze, but failed miserably, as he was staring at the naked brunette before him.

"I normally don't do threesomes...," she stated airily, waving a hand, "But I could certainly make an exception for my Melina."

The redhead's blush roared in her cheeks as the consulting detective finally met her gaze, arching a single brow. She wished the floor would swallow her whole.

"_Your_ Melina?"

"Yes...," she hummed. "We go quite far back." She smirked. "Don't be upset with her, Mr. Holmes. She doesn't remember anything of our relationship. It was only a weekend, and it was before she graduated."

He frowned and stalked forward, pulling the dancer into his side. "What did you do to her memory?"

Irene sighed. "It was just a little drug. It was harmless; very few side effects. I've used it on Kate hundreds of times, not that she could tell you." She smirked at her own joke. "There's no point in getting excited over it."

John walked through the doorway carrying a large bowl. "Right, this should do it..." He stopped short, eyes falling on the naked woman at the center of the room. He took in the protective stance of Sherlock, who was standing in front of Mel- who was behind him. Her hair was tousled and wild. The faint print of red lipstick on the corner of her mouth. "Oh. Uh- alright, then. I've missed something, haven't I?" He said, swallowing audibly. The Adam's Apple in his throat bobbed.

No one responded.

"Please, sit down, all of you. If you'd like some tea, I could call the maid."

Mel tentatively sat back on the couch. Her stomach was fluttering with hormones and trepidation. Sherlock sat next to her.

"I had some at the palace."

"I know," The Woman stated, smirking flirtatiously as she sat in the ivory chair nearby.

"Clearly." Sherlock wound his arm possessively around the dancer next to him, nearly pulling her onto his lap in the process.

"Let's get down to business shall we?" The dominatrix smirked.

"Wait, wait, wait," John protested, still at the door. "Could you put something one, please? A napkin?" He ventured, holding up the white piece of cloth in his hand.

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?" She smiled at that. "Melina, be a dear and pass me his coat."

The redhead did as she was asked, standing to pass it to her. Once Irene was covered, she grasped the dancer by the neck and pulled her in for a heated kiss, tongue searching and asserting its authority.

The military doctor let out a little gurgling noise. "Oh god... I'm going to hell."

"Focus, John," the consulting detective hissed through gritted teeth, watching his girlfriend being kissed.

When the dominatrix finally pulled away, she slipped off her shoes and sat on the sofa. "So tell me, how was it done."

Sherlock stood and slipped his arm around Mel, stabilizing her swaying movements. "What?"

"The murder. The hiker with the bashed in head. How was he killed?"

Sherlock frowned. "That's... not why I'm here."

"No, of course not. You're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen. Since we're here just chatting anyway-"

John, who finally managed to shake himself out of his reverie, stepped forward. "That story's not been on the news yet, how did you know about it-?"

"I know one of the policemen- well, I know what he likes."

"Oh." The doctor sat on the couch. "You like policemen?"

"I like detective stories. And detectives. And redheads." She looked up, meeting Mel's stare. "Brainy is the new sexy." And she smirked, her pink tongue daring to stroke her red upper lip.

"Positionofthecar," Sherlock blurted, moving away from the dancer, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. "The position of the car-" He went off, speaking incredibly quickly. Mel was barely able to follow him.

She found her eyes straying to Irene, who was gazing at the consulting detective, allowing her to stare openly. _I don't like girls, though... _She was so very confused. _What happened that weekend? And when? When did I come to London, have a- apparently- heavy, sexual relationship with a dominatrix, and return back to America, with absolutely no memory of the meeting? You have a degree in Neurobiology, for Christ's sakes! What drug could do that to a person?! _

**_Think!_**

_Any cocktail of Metyrapone, Propofol, Rohypnol or Scopolamine. Possibly Ketamine. But they all have side effects though- some incredibly dangerous when the chemicals block the neurotransmitters in the brain. This is something engineered to directly wipe memory by inducing permanent amnesia._

Mel was ripped from her thoughts by the sound of an ear-piercing fire alarm.

"Thank you," Sherlock breathed, moving to the mirror. "When hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." He approached the ornate mirror hanging over the fireplace. His fingers skimmed and prodded the mantel. Jerking his hands, the mirror slid up on the wall, revealing a large safe. "Really hope you don't have a baby in here," he hummed, smirking. "Alright, John, you can shut it off now."

"Give me a minute!" Came the rushed reply. Moments later, the alarm cut off.

The redhead pressed a hand to her head.

Sherlock was muttering about gloves and codes.

Then the door burst open, slamming against the wall. Four men in black suits flooded in the room. Deadly firearms were in their hands. One of the men took Mel by the arm and threw her to the floor, sending her sprawling. Her left ankle twisted awkwardly under her weight and she whimpered. The loud crack of bone resonated through the room. Hot tears filled her vision, threatening to fall. Irene looked over at her, eyes wide from where she was kneeling on the carpet. The dominatrix swallowed, taking in the unnatural angle at which the limb was twisted behind the dancer.

"Stay still," the man ordered, taking her by the hair and wrenching violently, dragging her up to her knees. She didn't make a noise. Salty tears trailed down her cheeks.

_Oh my god. My ankle. No... please..._

She felt the cool barrel of a gun against her temple. She swallowed her tears as well as she possibly could, willing herself to think past the pain.

John gasped. "Mel! Are you okay?!"

"Shut your mouth!" The man behind him shouted, jabbing his gun against the back of his head.

A delirious numbness slipped through her limbs. The adrenaline forced everything else away- only the sound of her frantically beating heart pounding in her ears.

_My ankle... The Ballet... All my work... My career-_

"On the count of three Mr. Ames, shoot Miss McAllister."

"_What_?!" John shouted, eyes wide. "No- Sherlock!"

Mel's face was completely indifferent. She glanced up at the beautiful man in front of the safe, eyes emotionless and cold. He was just shaking his head, pale eyes flitting from her face to her ankle, then back again.

"One."

"I don't know the code!"

"Two..."

The pressure increased against her temple, the gun pressing further into her skin. She smiled sparingly up at Sherlock and closed her eyes, allowing a gentle breath to fall from her lips.

"She didn't tell me! I don't know!"

"Mel! No!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now... three."

"No! Stop," Sherlock cried.

Mel's eyes opened. Relief and surprise sparked through her blood. She looked up dejectedly, lips parting. The consulting detective was gazing directly at her, silver eyes sincere and apologetic. Then the wheels of his mind were whirring. He turned back to the safe and punched in six numbers. The safe let out two small beeps.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please."

Sherlock reached up for the latch and twisted. Then he paused, glancing back at Irene.

"Vatican Cameos."

All hell broke loose.

There was a deafening gunshot. Mel flinched at the noise- as she always did- but growled and lashed out, elbow connecting with the knee of the man behind her. Cartilage and bone snapped. He grunted, falling to the ground. Sherlock was there, knocking the man out viciously with the butt of a gun, snarling. He hit the man again. And again.

And again.

"Sherlock," the dancer breathed, gazing up at him. "Stop...," she begged, slumping to the ground, unable to handle her weight any longer. "Please."

His strong arms were around her in instant, cradling the petite woman against his chest. "Oh god... Melina-"

"Sherlock... my ankle..." Her throat constricted with tears. Her vision swam with tears and black spots. _No. Not yet. Breathe,_ her subconscious ordered, forcing the woman to stay awake.

"I believe it's broken, Melina."

"Yeah," she whispered. "I gathered that."

He pressed his lips to her fevered brow. "Just breathe."

"He's dead," John stated, checking one of the men's pulses.

"Thank you," Irene hummed, smiling smugly. "You were very observant."

"Observant"

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be," Sherlock spat.

"_Flattered_?"

"There'll be more of them. They'll be keeping an eye on the building. John, take her, please."

The doctor nodded and placed his acquired handgun in the waistband of his jeans. He took the redhead, who was quivering with the aftershocks of the adrenaline. The consulting detective ran off. Five gunshots echoed through the air, making Mel jump. She moaned as the movement jostled her ankle- which was turning an alarming shade of ruddy purple through her sheer grey tights.

"Check the rest of the house, see how they got in," Sherlock ordered, running back into the sitting room to speak with Irene.

John sighed and walked up the stairs, with the dancer in his arms. "I'm so sorry, Mel. If I would've known this would happen-"

"What?" She pondered, breathing patterns escalating incrementally. "You would've stopped me? You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

He walked into the bedroom and swore under his breath. Kate was on the floor, head lolled to the side- obviously unconscious, if not worse. The doctor shot the redhead a look, obviously conflicted.

"It's alright," she breathed. "Just... put me on the bed."

He did so and quickly kneeled by the woman on the floor, checking for signs of breathing.

"Sherlock!" He called, taking Kate's pulse.

Mel heard him bounding up the stairs. Her mind was fogging over, clouding with a leaden, numbing cold.

"Melina?" Fingers were at her wrist.

"-Fine...," she breathed, gazing unseeingly up at the ceiling.

"This is where they got in."

"Obviously."

"There's a back door, Dr. Watson," the brunette woman stated, "You better check it."

At Sherlock's nod, John exited the room.

The redhead's brow creased as she saw Irene move to the desk and pull out something.

"You're very calm," the man pointed out, gazing down at a black phone in his hand. _He... got the phone? _"Well, your booby-trap did just kill a man."

"Mmm, he would've killed me," she said. "It was self-defence in advance." She stroked his arm, forcing flames of jealousy to flicker in Mel's belly. He looked down at her hand. It was almost too fast to follow. The dominatrix stabbed him in the other arm with a long syringe. While he was turning, grunting, demanding to know what it was, Irene slapped him hard across the face. The younger woman cried out.

"Stop!"

"Give it to me."

"No."

"_Give it to me!_"

He fell to his knees. "No!"

"Oh for goodness sake." She reached behind her and took a black leather riding crop from her desk. As soon as she had it above her head, yielding it threateningly, Mel stumbled off the bed.

Ignoring the pain, she hopped forward, gritting her teeth. "Get away from him."

"Drop it," Irene ordered, paying the injured woman no heed. She struck him across the side. "I." Across the back. "Said." On his bicep. "Drop it."

The redhead hissed in pain and punched The Woman in the face, connecting with her high cheekbone. She staggered back, gasping indignantly, eyes flashing. "You hit me." She sounded shocked.

"You hit him," Mel breathed, chest heaving.

Holding her face, Irene walked back to her desk. "Shall I dose you as well?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't you dare-"

"What are you going to do? Hit me?"

"I'm thinking that was a little too kind."

The dominatrix stalked back, another syringe in hand. "Come here, Melina. This won't hurt." She winked. "I promise.

"John!" Mel cried, scrambling back, trying to not put any weight on her ankle. "Help-!"

The brunette was too fast. She lunged forward and stabbed the needle into her neck, depressing the plunger. The redhead fell. Slim arms wrapped around her, lowering her carefully to the ground. Irene loomed over her- her pretty face swirled like misty fog. She smiled almost apologetically.

"I didn't want to, but I know you won't stop. You love him," she breathed, pressing a kiss to the younger woman's gasping lips. "It's so obvious," she said once she had pulled away. "And you don't even know." The Woman scoffed. "Love. It's so damn basic, isn't it?" Another kiss. "See... I thought I was in love with you. I really did. You were all new, shiny, flaming red head and a personality to match... absolutely _gorgeous..._" She sighed dejectedly, shaking her head. "But you don't even remember me. I suppose he's to blame, isn't he?"

_Who? Who's to blame?! _Mel's mouth could move. The darkness was coming fast around her, seeping into her vision.

"Sorry about the foot," she cooed. "I hear injuries like that are nasty for a dancer's career..."

Irene looked up. Footsteps pounded across the hardwood floor. Then she disappeared from view.

"Mel! Sherlock! What the hell have you done to them? What did you give them-?"

The redhead's eyes were wide. The world around her spun.

Then it was disintegrating; the bedroom falling away.

...

_She felt hands wake her from pleasant dreams. Her father's face was above her, shrouded in darkness. His ginger hair was tousled, as if he'd just woken. His gentle face was filled with anxiety- his jaw rigid, emerald eyes flashing as he kept glancing at the door. _

_"Papa? What's the matter?" Her voice was high, revealing the lack of her age._

**_Please no. Not this memory again._**

_"Melina! My darling, I need you to listen very carefully," he stated. _

_The girl nodded and scrambled up from her bed. She had never seen him so afraid before. _

_"Papa, why are you scared?" She asked. Her small heart was beating like the wings of a hummingbird. "What's happening?" _

_He checked behind him again. "There's a bad man in the house, do you understand?" His eyes were begging her to comprehend the words he was saying._

_"A man?"_

_Her father bit his lip and scratched his brow, as if he were attempting to find a way for her to understand. _

_"We're going to play a game, alright? I need you to hide under the bed for me. Hide under the bed and don't come out, no matter what you hear." His words trembled as they fell from his lips. _

_"Like Hide-and-Seek?" The small child's wide eyes took in her father's posture. "How will I know when to come out? Will you come to get me?"_

_The man took his daughter in his arms and hugged her tightly. "I don't know, my darling. I'm sorry-"_

_His words were cut off by the sound of shattering glass. He pressed a kiss against Melina's red curls. "Mama and Papa love you more than anything, darling. Never forget that."_

_Her father helped her slide under the bed. His green eyes were glassy. "Be absolutely silent." He held a finger to his lips. _

_"Okay. Is Peter playing too?"_

_"Yes, you're brother is playing too." A single tear escaped as he squeezed his eyes shut- a pained look crossing his features. The liquid rolled down his cheek and fell onto the hardwood floor. The man wiped the wetness from his cheek hastily. "Don't be afraid, Melina."_

_He fixed the bed skirt so it would cover her from view. _

_Melina poked the tear with a small finger, drawing a small heart on the wood. _

_There was a loud bang. _

_She jumped, fear spreading through her like wildfire. Her eyes widened. _

_The bangs continued. _

_Then paused. _

_She heard footsteps outside her door. _

_She didn't like the loud noise. Melina cupped her hands over her ears. _

_The feet went away. _

_The loud noise started again. _

_BANG_

_She flinched, eyes widening._

_BANG_

_Her tiny hands came up to her mouth, keeping her cries from being heard._

_BANG_

_Silence descended. _

_Mel bit her lip. Her chin quivered. _

_There were footsteps again. Heavy boots, just outside the door. There was a dark shadow. The little girl could make out feet and legs. There was someone there. The person backed up. _

_Then the door was crashing down, kicked in by the Shadow Man. Wood splintered everywhere. The door skidded across the floor, sliding just to the edge of the bed. Mel whimpered, the tiny noise coming out before she could stop it. She could see him through the pink bed skirt. When the dust finally settled, the man was stalking through the room, sleek gun in his grip._

_"I know you're here, kid," he stated, voice low and gruff. "I can hear you breathing." His voice was strange. His accent was... English. _

_Melina pinched her nose and covered her mouth, trying to silence her breaths. _

_"Come out, come out- wherever you are...," he hummed as he paced back and forth through the small room. "Could you be... in the wardrobe?" He yanked the doors open and fired twice. He rifled through the hanging clothes and jackets, chuckling. The little Scottish girl took a shaky breath. The man immediately turned._

_"Oh. Of course," he breathed. He stepped carefully towards the bed. "He hid you, didn't he? But not well enough, Melina. Not well enough-"_

_A large hand gripped her wrist. She screamed. He yanked her out from under the bed. _

_"Shhh..." he breathed, crouching in front of her. "I promise I won't hurt you."_

_The redhead quivered and looked up into his eyes. He had large, square glasses. The lenses were splattered with large, red dots. _

_She sobbed, trying to pull away. "Where's Papa?"_

_The man placed the gun on the floor ran a hand through his thick black hair and sighed. "He's a little... busy right now. I'm a good friend of his, though. I promise."_

_"Papa said you were a bad man."_

_"Yeah...," he inclined his head. "We had a little disagreement about that."_

_Melina coughed, choking on her tears. "I'm scared..."_

_The Shadow Man shushed her again. "I need your help, Melina. I'm looking for something. If you give it to me, you can go back under the bed, I promise."_

_The little girl cries softened. "W-what do you want to find?"_

_He grinned predatorily, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light. _

_"I'm looking for a disk. A file. And you're going to find it for me." _

* * *

**Like what I've done with The Woman and Mel? ;D **

**_P.S. So... holy crow. You guys are amazing. 180 reviews? 20,000 views?! Thank you so much, everyone. The more you read and respond, the more I write :) I would be so very happy if we could make it to 200 reviews for the next chapter!_**

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**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	17. Chapter 17: Words

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews : **

**...**

**TsukiLovesSnape:** Thank you so much!

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**xxxMadameMysteryxxx:** I guess you'll just have to read to find out ;) Thanks for reviewing.

**sherlockhomesgeek:** Haha it was meant to be kinda awkward xP Thank you for continuing to read and review!

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**Majin Micha:** Oh, goodness me! Thank you for all the kind words! I wasn't sure how everyone would react to Irene and Mel's kiss. Honestly, I'm quite pleasantly surprised with most of the feedback. Thank you for continuing to read and review :)

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**harliesue:** Hello! I'm glad that you're continuing to enjoy my work. This is becoming quite the love story, eh? Oh well. I'm enjoying it :) Yes, I apologize for hurting Mel. *raises hands in defeat* It's all in the name of the plot, I promise. I warn you now, you might flip your shit when you read this chapter. Just... throwing it out there. Teehee. Thanks for reviewing!

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**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

Wind. It bit like cool steel against her exposed flesh. Rain whipped along the air, mingling with the maelstrom gusts. The cliff was like a dark knife edge against the livid sky. Waves crashed against rock, sending a spectacular spray flying through the air. They battered the line of the cliffs, sending monstrous clouds of white sea foam into the sky.

Mel opened her eyes. The precipice on which she was standing hung wide over the length of the ocean- which spread all across the horizon. The water slammed the rocks with brute force. Its depths churned with a color that was not quite black or grey- something entirely different in between the two. Her feet were bare. Naked toes curled in the sparse sand and grass. She inhaled the scent of the salt water, stretching her arms out at her sides. Loose, scarlet curls whipped around her face- taken prisoner by the storm.

"Melina." The deep baritone vibrated through her torso, eliciting a shiver to travel down her spine.

"Not now, Sherlock."

There was a beat of silence. "Please. Don't do this."

A crestfallen smile teased her lips. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

There was a hand, pressing firmly against her back. The long fingers stretched the expanse between shoulder blades.

"Please. Come back." His hot breath ghosted over the nape of her neck.

The ocean sounded so far away, somehow further than before.

"I'm... sorry, Sherlock. You know I can't."

"But I love you." Hot lips pressed against the side of her throat.

Her heart stuttered. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. We both know you're just saying that because of what I'm about to do."

His large hands gripped her waist and turned the woman, forcing them to face each other. Sherlock was devastatingly beautiful. His raven curls were fluttering wildly around his perfect face. His skin was as smooth as porcelain- entirely without fault, even in the wind. His lips were lacking pigment, but still full and perfectly shaped; the cupids bow of his mouth was arched in just the right way- mirroring the sharp angles in his other features. But his eyes. Oh, his eyes. Sherlock's eyes were the palest shade of silver- swirling with sea foam and grey. The consulting detective's hands cupped her throat, thumbs brushing like a moth's wing over the line of her jaw.

"Don't jump, my love."

"I... I..."

"Stay," he implored, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. "For me."

Mel's heart ached with pressure. "I can't," she breathed. Tears escaped her eyes, rolling down her cheeks.

"Please." It was a mere whisper, taken captive by the wind.

She stepped away, putting space between them. "Goodbye, Sherlock." She rocked back on her heels.

"No, Melina!" He was suddenly angry. Furious.

The dancer raised her hands once more at her sides, palms facing into the rain.

Then she jumped, flinging herself off the cliff.

...

Mel woke with a start, gasping for air. Tears streamed down her face- hot and wet. The sheets were tangled around her legs. The room was dark. It was still the middle of the night. A swift glance at the clock validated her deduction.

**3:14 AM**

It was the same dream. The same dream that had been haunting her for weeks. Ever since she met Irene Adler.

Ever since her life had been put on hold.

The woman extricated herself from the cotton bed sheets, taking care with her left ankle. The black boot was large and cumbersome. She staggered out of the bed, pressing a palm against her fevered face. It was slick with salty tears and damp with sweat.

It had been exactly one hundred and twenty-seven days.

One hundred and twenty-seven without dance. Without work. Without the reckless abandon and freedom of movement.

It had been one hundred and twenty-seven days without Dr. John Watson.

Without Sherlock Holmes.

The morning after she woke from her drug-induced stupor, the military doctor had explained the extent of her injuries. There was a severe fracture in her left talus, along with tears in the majority of the surrounding tendons. The injury itself was not detrimental. But to Mel- to a dancer- it meant six to eight weeks with little to no mobility. It meant no _Cinderella_.

The Royal Ballet called, asking if there was anything they could do to help with the recovery. They had already heard what had happened. Anna and Rex came by with lilies. They ordered pizza and chatted for hours- the couple doing most, if not all, of the talking. Leo brought a bouquet of yellow roses. Mycroft sent a expensive floral arrangement by with Anthea- who barely glanced up from her phone to utter her condolences. Then there was Sherlock. He tried. Mel had heard him scale the thirteen stairs up to the door of her apartment. He stayed there for seconds. Minutes. Hours. Then he had turned and descended those same thirteen steps, back to the safety of his flat.

The woman had stared out the window continuously for the first sixty-nine hours. Her heart felt as though it had been scraped away. There was only a ribcage and hot, pulsing blood left in its wake. There was a hole; a deep, black pit where the sentimental organ used to be. It hurt to breathe. To sleep. To dream. Closing her eyes meant nightmares. The gun. The man, kicking her to the floor. Her ankle snapping like a tree's branches. On the other hand, being awake meant pity. It meant sorrow and empathetic gazes. They observed her the way one would look at a beaten, homeless puppy.

Sherlock had been too afraid to even see or go near her. He was ashamed. Guilt-ridden. Disgusted. The redhead didn't know which. Then there was John- who was all sympathy and forced smiles; those of a doctor, seeing a patient degrading into a wisp of a person.

She was unfeeling. It was easier that way. She just wanted to be alone, away from the pity and all the looks; the sideways glances.

On the fifth day, Mel managed to grab hold of her existence; shaking herself from her waking coma. She steeled her resolve. The woman packed all her things in the night, back into the boxes- which were still left from the move. With nothing more than sheer willpower and duct tape, Mel packed away her life into those thick pieces of cardboard. The boys had been at St. Bartholomew's, looking into another case. Mrs. Hudson had been asleep in her flat.

The injured dancer called Mycroft Holmes. She explained what she needed. He agreed to her terms without any feeble resistance. He offered use of his private jet and money. He promised Sherlock wouldn't be able to find her. The older Holmes took her phone and anything else that would be able to track her.

She wrote a note. It was lengthy, saying her last goodbyes to the boys.

Then, eliminating all emotion from the equation, Melina McAllister left 221B Baker Street.

Mycroft's jet dropped her off in Vitória, a beautiful city in Brazil, just on the coast of the Atlantic. Despite her protests, the man had bought her a large beach house, complete with furnishings and appliances. In reality, the man had managed to buy the entire beach the house was built on, privatizing the entire stretch of the coast.

"_I've been looking to buy another vacation home anyways,_" he had explained to her over the phone. "_Feel free to use any resources there. Think of it as... House-sitting._"

One hundred and twenty-seven days later, Mel stood on the glass balcony, looking out over the expanse of crystal ocean. She sighed, expelling an exhausted breath.

She missed Sherlock. She missed his kisses. The harsh, unyielding pressure of his perfect mouth. The consuming, dominating dance of his tongue against hers. His hands- how they claimed her body with a single touch, forcing her to bow against him. She had yearned to remain as close to him as possible. He was the sun, and she was the pitiful flower, needing to be as close as possible to his light. She missed his mind. His beautiful, unbelievable mind. The one that seemed to know what she needed, even before she thought of it. He knew everything, everywhere, every single time. Mel wished he would find her. That he would come for her, even though she was the one that left. She wanted to touch him. His face. His smooth, muscled chest. His... everything. Mel needed Sherlock Holmes. She felt like an addict: and she was. The dancer was addicted to his taste; mint, tea, and the unmistakeable taste that was all Sherlock. She was addicted to his smell; the spicy cologne and scent of man. The feel of his hair, when she tugged on his curls during a passionate kiss. The sound of his laugh; so rare and perfect.

Everything. She missed everything about the handsome consulting detective.

Then there was John. Oh, how she wanted to speak with the doctor. He was surely her best friend: of that she'd come to the conclusion over the past four and a half months. His humor; taking no prisoners, while managing to poke fun. The way he was able to tame his flatmate. He was making the younger Holmes a better man, of that she was sure. His smile had been able to calm her in seconds. The dancer only wished he had been able to look at her without the pity in his eyes.

The list went on. Mrs. Hudson. Anna and Rex. Everyone at the Ballet. Lestrade. Even Mycroft. All of her friends and acquaintances from London.

Even then, the hole in her chest was less noticeable than it'd once been. Not completely healed; for that she needed... Sherlock. But it was slowly beginning to scar over.

The dancer sat down on one of the white lounging chairs and lifted her left leg. Her fingers brushed across the black Velcro of the bulky boot. Tentatively, the woman set to work. She removed the boot from her foot and threw it to the side. _Thunk_. A small smile lifted the corner of her lips. The sound was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard. Running a hand through her long, red tresses, the woman stood and walked across the glass veranda and descended the spiral staircase. Her bare feet met white, powdery sand. The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon, just breaking over the line of the Atlantic.

Her ankle was weak, but there was no pain.

Mel had been working with a physiotherapist for a little over three months. The days were grueling as the doctor pushed her to walk with the help of crutches or a cane. Slowly, the man told her that there was a chance- a miniscule one, at that- that the woman might be able to dance again. With that sliver of hope, the woman had been working during the nights, as she once did, on her stretches and dance. She'd managed to push through _tendus_ and _pliés._ Her _pirouettes_ and _jetés _were shaky at best, leaving the dancer frustrated and angry with herself. She should've been better. More resilient.

Her left leg trembled minutely as she walked across the beach, slowly approaching the shore. The thin, emerald material of her beach dress fluttered around her ankles, brushing the sand as she walked. The back was low, exposing the length of her spine, brushing the top of her black bikini bottoms. Reaching down, Mel lifted the material to bunch around her thighs. The woman stepped into the water, allowing it to lap up around her ankles. The warm water reached her bare calves as she stepped deeper into the water.

There was no pain.

Overwhelming elation flooded her veins. Her eyes fluttered shut. The breeze from the ocean brushed over her face in a tender caress. Her heart- which she'd almost forgotten still resided in her chest- swelled, breaking away from its dormant state. A delicate breath fell from her lips as a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away after a long beat and opened her eyes. She watched the sun rise over the ocean; casting rays of pink, oranges, and yellows across the sky.

Grasping the hem of her dress, Mel lifted the material from her body and threw it towards the safety of dry sand. Tightening the strings of her black bikini top, the woman waded out into the warm water. She hummed softly to herself, breathing in the scent of the salty ocean. Dipping her head back, the dancer slipped her head under the calm waves. Her scarlet waves darkened, almost resembling a deep shade of rust. The length- which had grown exponentially in the time she'd spent in Brazil, now reaching her hips- swirled tantalizingly through the water's depths. She relinquished her hold on the sandy bottom, floating calmly on her back.

It was so easy to live there. Get up. Go for a swim. Go to the physiotherapist appointment. Go shopping at the market for food. Eat. Back to the beach house. Try to dance. Then sleep, if the need arised. Mel looked up at the lightening sky and sighed. There wasn't much of a schedule anymore. Her appointments had finished the day before. The doctor declared the rest of the work had to be done on her own. There was no need to go to the market either. She had enough food for the week.

_Swimming, eating and dancing, _she hummed internally. _Perfect_. _It would be better with Sherl-_

Her subconscious glared at her, arching a single brow.

_It would be,_ she thought petulantly, _and you know it. We both need him here. _As usual, the woman pushed her subconscious back into the recesses of her mind.

Exhaling softly, Mel ducked under the water and swam away from the beach. Her fingers skimmed the surface of the water. Her legs kicked, pushing her further out. This had been one of her only forms of exercise during the healing and rehabilitation of her ankle. It wasn't as grueling as dancing used to be- leaving the redhead's body more soft, smoothing out the angles of sharp bone and pale skin. It was nice, just to be away from everything. Away from civilization, in the middle of nowhere. Diving under the clear turquoise water, Mel swam down. Colorful fish scurried away from her as she swam down to the bottom of the ocean. Only when her lungs felt as though they were about to burst, did she come back to the surface. She repeated the motions over and over: swim farther out, dive down, come back up. It was one of the ways she practiced her breath support and lung capacity for dance.

The sun rose up on the horizon, hinting that it was later in the morning. Mel dived down once more before beginning the swim back to shore.

She squeezed the water from her hair as she walked up onto the beach and bent to retrieve her dress. She was about to slip the thin material over her head when the woman glanced up across the expanse of white sand. Her heart seized in her chest. The organ which was just barely there, stuttered against her ribcage. Then it was off, fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

_It can't... He can't be..._

Standing in the center of the beach was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

The beautiful man was so out of place on the sands of the Brazilian coast. He was wearing his dark purple button-down. Even at the distance at which Mel stood, she could see the first three buttons where undone, revealing his fair throat and collarbone. It was untucked and loose from his black slacks, making him look more relaxed than the woman had ever seen. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms. His pale eyes sparked something deep inside of her, from those many months ago in London. The pure, unrefined, sensual need. Then he started forward, walking across the sand.

Mel's heart was racing now.

_This has to be a dream... _Her eyes shut tightly. Her mind couldn't handle if he was only a hallucination. The woman could feel herself trembling. _It can't be. He can't be..._

Then she smelt it. It was like a prayer on the wind. The faintest trace of cologne. _His_ cologne. Long fingers brushed her wrist. Her heart leapt, brushing aside the dust and cobwebs. _I must still be in bed_. This was all a dream. The imagined touch of his calloused fingers felt more substantial than it should've been. Oh, she'd be kicking herself later, when she finally realized none of this was real. She'd dreamt of him so many times. It couldn't be possible. With a resigned sigh, Mel turned away, hoping the illusion would dispel on its own. But the hand did something she did not expect. It wrapped just a little tighter around her wrist- fingers brushing the pulse point.

"Melina."

The deep, accented baritone had the muscles deep in her stomach quivering instantly. The illusion's voice was so convincing.

"I'm dreaming," she breathed, trying to steady her erratically beating heart. Hot lips pressed against her forehead, the most fleeting of touches. "You can't be here."

"I'm sorry." Another kiss; against her temple. "I couldn't wait for you to come back on your own. I had to see you."

She frowned. "That doesn't prove I'm not dreaming."

"I am here, Melina," he said after several beats, sounding equal parts confused and frustrated.

The redhead could feel her throat becoming thick with unshed tears. "You're a hallucination, Sherlock. It's not healthy for me to have a conversation with you. I'm getting better. You... You need to go."

The illusion's mouth trailed a line of fire down to her jaw, pressing hot kisses to the hollow of her ear. He exhaled heavily. "You're not dreaming-"

"Then why am I not waking up?" She challenged, arching a single brow. Her eyes remained shut.

He sighed. "What do I have to do? To prove that you're conscious?"

Mel's brow creased. She hadn't expected the dream to say that. He'd never said anything like that before. "I d-don't... I-"

He reached down and pulled the dress from her grip; as her knuckles were becoming white from clenching her fist so tight. She heard him toss the material onto the sand. "Open your eyes," the hallucination implored. A beat later, he bit sharply into the flesh of her ear lobe, causing the young woman to cry out. Her eyes flew open. The dancer's eyes flickered up to take in his beautiful face. He looked undeniably exhausted. There were dark, purplish bruises under his eyes. Lines of tension creased his forehead.

_He never looks like this. He's always so... flawless. Does that mean...?_

Her heart stuttered. "S-Sherlock?"

His perfect mouth pulled up in to a crooked smile. The consulting detective reached up to brush tendrils of damp hair behind her ear. He glanced down and blinked owlishly. "You're wearing the earrings I bought for you." His fingers brushed over them, tugging lightly at the lobes.

She flushed, realizing this was actually happening. "I-I always wear them. You know that."

Sherlock's lips flattened into a terse line. An unknown emotion flashed in his silver eyes. "You've been gone for a very long time. You could've... thrown them away." He shrugged, attempting indifference. It didn't reach his eyes. They were... hurt. Deeply.

Guilt flooded her. "Sherlock...," Mel whispered, slowly directing her gaze to the powdery sand.

Almost immediately, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Don't look away from me," he murmured, his tone almost begging. "Please. I need to see your beautiful face. It's been too long."

She flushed pink but did as he asked, hesitantly peering up at him through her lashes. The fingers at her wrist brushed over her pulse. Suddenly, Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around her waist and tugged hard, pulling her flush against the line of his body. The redhead inhaled sharply. His hot palms flexed their hold against her bare spine, clutching desperately at the skin there.

Mel swallowed her heart- which leaped into her throat. "How long?"

The consulting detective's brow furrowed with confusion. "Hmm?"

"How long have you known? That I've been here?"

His jaw clenched. "I was able to pinpoint your exact location a week after you left Baker Street.

Her breath shuddered from her lungs. "You..."

"I was trying to give you time," he breathed. The man leaned down to press a tender kiss against the hollow of her throat. He inhaled slowly, languidly taking in her scent. "I was... I was the reason this happened. That your ankle..." He shut his eyes tightly. "You must hate me-"

Mel shook her head wildly at the barbaric notion. _Hate Sherlock Holmes? Impossible._ "No," she laughed airily, pressing her hands against his chest. "I just needed time. Time away from the pity."

Sherlock sighed. "I... I should've just come to see you. When it first happened. I've regretted it every day since you left." He swallowed thickly. "In the taxi returning from St. Bart's, John gave me a stern talking to. I was going to come up to your flat. To surprise you with breakfast in bed. He said you'd like that... and then... you were gone." His brow creased at the painful memory.

The woman groaned. Stretching up on the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips softly to his. They were so warm and soft. The dancer ignored the twinge in her ankle as she pulled away, just as his arms started to tighten their hold. She flushed brightly as she looked up.

His silver eyes flashed with undeniable hunger. "Not again," he growled. One of his hands reached down and grasped her leg, hitching it up around his waist. Mel gasped. "You are mine, Melina," he hissed. "There's no more running. No more chasing." His hot breath ghosted over her face.

"Good," Mel breathed. "Cause I'm tired of running from you, Mr. Holmes."

He smirked darkly. "Thank the Lord."

A moment later, he swooped down to claim her lips. He captured her bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. Groaning, Mel's fingers flew up into his curls- which were more silky than her imagination could ever replicate. Sherlock made a small noise when her nails grazed his scalp. His hand pressed firmly against her lower back, fitting their hips together. His tongue begged for entrance at the seam of her lips. She granted his access instantaneously. Her head swam from the delicious pressure of his mouth. The woman's nerve endings sparked to life under his touch. It was as if there was something in her blood that awakened. Moaning loudly, Mel jumped up and wrapped her other leg around his waist. He caught her with little effort; hands under her upper thighs. She poured every emotion into that one kiss. All of her hurt. All of the pain. He answered back in turn, holding her closer than she ever thought was possible.

Mel leaned back, sucking air into her lungs greedily. Their breath mingled. Her eyes flickered between his silver gaze and his lips. "Come into the water with me," she breathed.

He searched her face. Sherlock allowed her to slide away, stepping back in the sand. Excruciatingly slowly, the consulting detective proceeded to unbutton his shirt. Once he was finished, the woman came forward. She brushed the material from his shoulders, gazing up into his eyes the entire time. Taking his hand, the dancer led him to the water. They waded into the depths until it reached their waists.

Mel cupped his face and brought him down to her level, locking their mouths in a passionate kiss. He lifted her up into his arms and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips. She could feel him, already hard, and pressing intimately against the juncture of her thighs. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, making up for all their lost time. Sherlock changed the speed of their frantic movements, slowing the tempo. Groaning, the woman nipped at his bottom lip, hoping it would speed his movements. To her surprise, it did nothing but make him pull away.

The consulting detective breathed heavily; his muscled chest brushed against her exposed flesh. "Melina..."

"Sherlock?"

His pale eyes took her in; the way she was wrapped all around him. "I need you to answer one question."

She tilted her head to the side. "What would that be?"

A profound look passed over his pale eyes. "What were you going to say at the end of your letter?"

Her heart thumped against her ribcage. "I-"

"_There are so many things I wanted to tell you, Sherlock,_" he recited, "_We both know what they are. I suppose there's no reason to say them, is there? You're the one that told me that sentiment is found in the losing side._"

Mel blushed prettily. "Y-you memorized my letter?"

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Tell me the words."

Her heart was back in her throat, fluttering madly. "Sherlock... that sort of thing- it doesn't need to be said-"

"Yes it does, Melina." He chuckled gruffly. "Oh, words are some of the some important things in the whole world." She went to close her eyes, but the consulting detective tsked and squeezed her thigh.

"Alright..." She exhaled, attempting to calm herself. Worrying her lip between her teeth, Mel reached up and brushed a lock of his hair that had flopped over his brow. "Sherlock Holmes... I-" The woman shook her head. "God... I can't! You already know how I feel anyway!"

The hurt was back, dimming the brightness of his gaze. "I don't, actually. You left me." He swallowed and shook his head. "I need to hear them."

Biting her lip, Mel peered up into his eyes. _Just tell him. He deserves to know! _Her subconscious was shouting like a harpy at the top of her lungs.

"Sherlock, I..."

"Please," he begged. "Say the words."

_Do it!_

Her heart was beating impossibly quick. He had to have been able to feel it pounding against his bare chest.

"I-"

"Melina-"

"Sherlock, I'm in love with you," she breathed softly, cupping his face in a small, dainty hand. "I think I have been from the first moment I set eyes on you."

His pale eyes widened. There was several minutes where neither of them spoke. The anxiety of rejection clenched its tainted fist around the woman's heart.

Then the consulting detective let out a groan of relief. He placed a swift, heated kiss to her mouth.

Mel could feel his lips stretching into a grin.

"Good," he breathed against her mouth. Then he proceeded to walk deeper into the water, allowing the warm depths to take away the rest of the world.

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**Goodness me... She finally said it! Hope you liked it! **

**_P.S. Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter. I can never thank you enough. _**

**_P.P.S. There is going to be intimate relations in the next chapter, so by Thursday, there is going to be a sexy lemon before your eyes ;) And I will be changing the rating to M. You're most certainly welcome. _**

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading. **

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**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	18. Chapter 18: Lucky

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews:**

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**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

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**WARNING: **THIS IS FULL OUT, NAKED, STEAMY GOODNESS. IS THERE A HIGHER RATING THAN M? NO? WELL, IT WOULD BE THAT, IF THERE WAS. IF YOU'RE TOO YOUNG TO READ THIS, DON'T. IF YOU DO ANYWAY- BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW YOU WILL- BE MATURE. PLEASE.

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The sun was directly above the beach. The heat from its rays was spectacular. It warmed the sand just enough without being unbearably scalding. There was not a single cloud in the gorgeous blue sky. Gulls cawed as they flew by, swooping down in to the water to catch fish.

Sherlock was lying on the powdered white sand, wearing only his black slacks. His lids were closed as he basked in the afternoon sun. He had an arm wrapped around the redhead at his side, unable to let her go for even a moment. Mel's head was propped up, a hand underneath her chin. She watched as the man's chest rose and fell slowly. His body was completely relaxed with exhaustion in his unconsciousness. The consulting detective was sleeping. The woman reached forward to lightly trace the dark circles under his eyes with her fingers. The purplish bruises were worse than she had ever seen. It was as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

A twinge of guilt sparked through her mind. _Did I do this? _The smile faded from her lips.

Her searching fingers brushed across his sculpted cheek bones. He had certainly lost weight since she last saw him. His bones were even more prominant. Seeing the man so very weak had her stomach twisting uncomfortably; almost like a frigid, steel knife stabbing through her belly. He was still overwhelmingly beautiful though, despite everything and the tension around his mouth and eyes. In unconsciousness, the stress from his face melted away. He looked so much younger. The wrinkles at his forehead smoothed out, leaving flawless, porcelain skin. He was like a Greek god, perfectly captured in soapstone and marble. The defined muscles of his arms and chest flexed every so often. The hand at her hip clutched feebly at the skin; as if he was trying to pull the dancer impossibly closer. As if he was afraid she would be gone when his eyes opened.

The thought had the chilling fingers of remorse closing around her heart. Emotion bubbled up in her throat. The woman slowly stroked his cheekbones. Caressed his closed eyelids. The shadows in the hollow under his eyes. She traced the slope of his nose. Shifting closer to him, the redhead drew the outline of his sculpted mouth, taking her time with the defined cupid's bow. His lips parted slightly under her ministrations, exhaling shakily.

His eyelids fluttered and opened, rewarding the woman with a view of his stunning pale gaze. The consulting detective blinked several times, clearing the fog of sleep from his mind.

"You're still here," he observed, sounding reasonably surprised. His voice was rough with exhaustion.

Mel's brows knitted together. "Of course."

He smiled against her fingers, which were still pressed against his mouth. "Thank you."

She laughed softly. "For what?"

"For being here."

The words had a new flood of guilt rushing through her veins like ice water. Just as she was about to pull away, Sherlock caught her wrist. With a sharp tug, he pulled the woman forward, effectively blanketing his chest with the length of her body. The sensation of his bare torso against her sent a shudder of pleasure down her spine. Leaning up, the consulting detective pressed his lips softly to hers. His touches were languorous and unhurried. He took his time, slowly deepening the contact between them. He slipped his free hand into her hair, which had dried in the hot sun. The tips of his fingers brushed across her scalp, fisting the scarlet tendrils at the nape of her neck.

Sherlock pulled away, forcing the woman groan at the loss of his exquisite mouth. He chuckled low in his throat. In a movement that was almost too swift for her to follow, the man rolled on top of her, pressing her back into the warm sand. The sight of him over top of her like that, blocking out the rays of the sun, had her stomach clenching with desire. The hand that was still wrapped around her slim wrist lifted, bringing the limb to rest in the sand above her head. Mel squirmed as she felt heat pooling like fire between her thighs. He sat astride the redhead, effectively trapping her with the weight of his body. With a stifled groan, the consulting detective shifted. The woman inhaled sharply. The length of his arousal was stiff against her belly. She looked up into his brilliant gaze, eyes widening.

This was it. Glancing between his mouth hand eyes, the woman pressed her lips to his. She pulled away, peering up at him through her lashes. She nodded imperceptibly to the unasked question in his eyes. He saw the action immediately and breathed a sigh of relief.

He swooped down to capture her mouth, staking his claim with his wicked tongue. The man settled against her, taking care to rest the majority of his weight on his forearms. His hips thrusted instinctively against the woman under him. The fingers grasping the base of her neck tilted her head, deepening the contact.

Sherlock swallowed the little noises of pleasure she uttered as his tongue tangled with hers. There was no fight; only the domination of his touch. The hand pinning her wrist above her head moved up. His fingers twined with hers. He broke away momentarily to look down at their clasped hands, laying in the sand- marvelling at the perfect fit. It was is if Melina McAllister was made for him.

She examined the consulting detective's face. He looked almost awestruck. Then his silver eyes flashed, coming back to meet hers.

"So beautiful," he whispered. "So perfect."

Her heart leapt. "Me?_ You're_ the beautiful and perfect one."

He smirked. "I suppose we will have agree to disagree, Miss McAllister." His lips twitched. "Would you not choose to change something. Would you not change anything about me." They were statements, not questions.

She shook her head. "Not for anything in the world. Surprisingly." She attempted not to smile, but failed miserably.

Sherlock chuckled. "Neither would I. _Surprisingly_," he mocked narrowing his eyes playfully.

"Hey!" Mel cried indignantly, smacking his bare chest with her free hand, laughing. He easily caught her wrist and wrenched it above her head, capturing it with the other. In this position, he had full control over her. The thought went straight to his groin, and he hardened even further. She twisted under him, arching her back. His free arm wrapped possessively round her slim waist, relishing in the sensation of her soft body moving under him.

"Sherlock-" She breathed, watching as he hovered over her body. His pupils were entirely dilated, consuming the majority of the irises.

His hand pressed against the small of her back, stilling her movements. His hand splayed wide- fingers brushing the bare skin. The woman shivered as his hold shifted lower, teasing along the top of her bikini bottoms.

"I like you wearing this," he murmured. "You should wear little to no clothing at all times." His head drifted to the side, his nose skimming across her collarbone. "It should be a law."

Mel chuckled and pressed a kiss into his dark curls. "That would be interesting. Especially for everyone else having to look at me-"

Sherlock growled, silver eyes igniting as he lift his head. "No one else. Me. Only me."

The animalistic jealously made her squirm. The heat in the apex of her thighs was almost unbearable. The embers deep in her belly sparked, threatening to burn into an uncontrollable wildfire.

His eyes darkened. "Having trouble keeping still, Melina?"

The redhead flushed as she gazed up at him. His eyes were intense.

"I could tie you up, if you wish." He was smirking.

The heat in her belly spread lower. Mel groaned softly, turning her head in the sand.

In one fluid motion, the consulting detective stood to his feet. He tugged her up by her bound hands. The dancer gasped as she was thrown over his shoulder. He bent to retrieve his shirt and her beach dress. Without a word, he proceeded across the sand.

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"I am going to take you back to the house and make love to you," the man interrupted, his tone was frank and calculated. "Then I will fuck you over and over until you scream my name; and promise to never leave me again."

Her heart leapt into her throat. She was thankful he couldn't see the roaring red blush that filled her cheeks. "I- uh..."

"Do you have any objections to those plans, Melina?" He asked as he climbed up the spiral staircase, reaching the terrace.

She shook her head, watching the muscles of his back flex as he walked into the beach house.

"I can't hear you."

The woman exhaled shakily, biting her lip. "No objections," she whispered.

The consulting detective chuckled darkly as he walked through the rooms, scanning the array of clean lines and spotless white furniture. "Do not bite your lip, Melina."

_How does he even know? _Mel shrugged, which was quite a feat upside down. "You're about to 'fuck' me either way- as you so eloquently put it- so does it really matter?" The false bravado in her voice barely wavered.

His chortle was answer enough.

When he finally located her bedroom, Sherlock kicked open the door.

The room was large and spacious. Three of the walls were painted a pretty sea foam color. The last was entirely constructed of thick glass, looking out over the ocean. The furnishings were modern and white, matching the massive kingsized bed.

Mel watched as the man discarded the clothes in his hand, throwing them far across the room. He carefully lowered her until her feet touched the ground, smirking wickedly. The blood rushed to her head at once, making the room spin. Chuckling, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist, steadying her swaying movements. He pressed a kiss to her lips, taking her breath away. He pulled back, gauging her reaction. Apparently liking what he saw, the man lunged forward to claim her mouth once more.

This time he didn't stop. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip, sucking the flesh into his mouth. Moaning softly, Mel's fingers wound themselves into his raven hair, threading through the silky curls. His hands were everywhere. Clutching the bare skin of her waist, caressing the swell of her hips. Cradling her head. Flexing against her backside. It was as if he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. Every touch was carefully calculated and executed. During the kiss, his fingers came up to her neck. In a few deft movements, he untied the knot of her bikini top. It didn't move. The few triangles stayed in place, barely held in place around her bust.

Sherlock moved forward, pulling the woman closer than before. His tongue ravaged her mouth, claiming all semblance of thought that remained. She barely felt the back of her legs hit the bed. His hands slipped down to her backside, lifting her up onto the mattress. The man stepped in between her spread thighs, hitching her legs up around his narrow hips.

He shifted, lifting them up the bed to rest in the mountain of pillows.

"I want you," he breathed, his deep, accented voice sending pleasurable shivers through her body.

"Yes," she gasped, unrepentantly needy. _Please. Now. Hard and fast. _

Sherlock hummed softly, pressing a series of kisses down the woman's sternum and belly. He laved the flesh with his talented tongue, taking his time to languidly tease and taste. Mel was squirming against his mouth. He chuckled and gripped her hipbones, taking one in each of his large hands. "Keep. Still," he ordered, punctuating his words with a kiss to each hip. The small amount of stubble on his chin and jaw scraped across her flat stomach.

"Sherlock..."

His chuckle rumbled through her. "Oh, Melina, patience is a virtue." He shifted, settling his weight onto her. His pelvic bone rocked forward, pinning her to the bed. His arousal was exactly where she needed him; separated by only a few pesky layers of fabric. His nose glided up her belly, retracing the roadmap he drew only moments before.

"You smell different," he stated, inhaling her scent at the valley between her breasts. "Like sunshine. And berries."

Her heart was thundering in her chest, battering the wall of her ribcage. There was no doubt he could feel it at his close proximity.

"Is that good?"

He nodded his assent before pulling back. His pale eyes took her in, caressing the length of her body. "And your skin... is more tanned." He reached up and brushed the pads of his callused fingers across the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones. "I always loved your freckles."

The word sent a jolt of delight down her spine. _How can a four letter word have the power to melt me into unintelligible pile of goo? _

He hummed a quiet tune under his breath as he ran his fingers through the woman's hair. "Your hair... is lighter. There are streaks of blonde now," he observed, tugging on the end of a strand.

"What is that?" Mel asked, moving to trace his lips with the pad of her thumb. "That one you're singing. That song?"

A faint pink color painted his cheeks. It was a beautiful sight to behold. "It's the piece I wrote for you."

Her heart swelled, filling her chest. "Oh, Sherlock...," she breathed.

Just as the man was about to duck his head, Mel grasped the back of his neck, bringing him down so their lips fit together. She slipped her tongue into his waiting mouth and flicked tentatively against his teeth. He responded to the kiss swiftly, his own tongue coming forward to battle for dominance. The fight was evenly matched- both giving and receiving, moving together in passionate tandem. Then her reached up and cupped her breasts. Mel exhaled shakily as his thumbs brushed across her nipples, which pebbled automatically under his ministrations. She mewled, encouraging him to knead through the fabric of her swimsuit. She arched into his touch, trying to press more fully against him.

"May I take this off?" He asked, tugging anxiously at the top. At her shyly nodded acquiescence, Sherlock untied the knot at the back and moved the strip of material from her, tossing it haphazardly onto the floor. She flushed and barely suppressed the need to cover herself from his searching eyes.

Melina McAllister was almost bare before him. Oh, she was absolutely gorgeous. Every inch of her was covered in the beautiful rose-pink flush. She was perfect, just as he remembered from those many months before, when she had a fever. Her stomach was toned and flat. The combination of her slight curves and pale flesh left him reeling. She was the ultimate canvas of femininity.

"Sherlock?" Mel whispered, focusing his attention once more on her face.

"Hmm?"

"Touch me. Please."

He grinned. "I have a feeling that I will have you begging for me by the end of this, Melina."

Mel shivered at his statement as he loomed above her. He looked like a vengeful angel: all beauty and ferocity. His chest was perfectly toned. The pale skin that was stretched over his sculpted muscles almost glowed. The only hair on his body was a trail of dark hair pointing further south, in the V of his hips. He rolled the weight of his body onto her, bracing his forearms on either side of her head against the mattress. He clasped her by the nape, lifting her head, and fit their mouths together. Her taste, her heat, her softness... every curve of her luscious body fanned the flames of his desire.

The woman gasped as he cupped her breasts, one in each hand.

"A perfect fit...," he murmured, squeezing the globes experimentally.

Before she could react, the consulting detective pounced, lowering his mouth to a hardened nipple. Shivers of anticipation flooded the redhead. His lips took the flesh prisoner. Mel's back arched off the bed as she gasped for breath. His deft fingers plucked at the other breast, stimulating every part of her. She felt heat and wetness pooling unbidden between her thighs. She squirmed back and forth, grasping at the cotton sheets under her. His teeth grazed the nipple. Black spots invaded the woman's vision.

Sherlock pulled away, laughing quietly. "Breathe, Melina." He pressed a long kiss to her mouth, full of tongue and nipping teeth. "We can't have you fainting this time." His other hand travelled to the other nipple, replacing where his mouth was. She immediately did as he asked, allowing oxygen to flood her lungs. At the same moment, he gently rolled the flesh between his fingers. The man lunged forward and captured her lips, absorbing her cries. "Well done, love," he praised, pecking her lips once more.

Mel could feel his erection, pulsing and hot against her hip. Worrying her lip between her teeth, the woman reached down, tentatively stroking him. Sherlock grunted, eyes squeezing shut. He snatched her wrist.

"You don't have to-"

"I _want_ to, Sherlock," she breathed, pressing her palm firmly against the fabric of his black trousers. "Let me take care of you. Let me..." She swallowed. "Apologize. I want to show you that I'll never leave you again. Never."

At that, he released her hand.

Not knowing where to start, Mel used all of her body weight to flip them over. His eyes widened as the woman tossed the length of her hair over her shoulder. She reached down once more, this time unfastening his leather belt. The zipper was rigid from his hardened length. Exhaling a shudder of a breath, Sherlock helped her by lifting his pelvis off the mattress, allowing the material to be removed and tossed onto the floor. Only left in a pair of navy satin boxers, the man flushed. Leaning down to taste his perfect mouth, the redhead's fingers toyed with the waistband, brushing across his lower abdomen and hip bone. Tugging gently, his manhood sprung free, causing a hum of appreciation to fall from her lips at the sight. With his help, she removed the last article of clothing from his body, leaving him absolutely, irrevocably, stark naked.

Mel leaned down to press a kiss to his sculpted abdomen. Her tongue flicked out to taste the expanse of flawless skin. The consulting detective groaned, fisting the sheet under him. Seeing his eyes were tightly shut, the woman took his length in hand and gave it a testing pump, up and down. Gritting his teeth, the man took her hand.

"Like this," he breathed, moving their hands across him in a smooth rhythm. Focusing, she did it the way he showed her, pumping then twisting just at the end. "Oh god...," Sherlock moaned, removing his hand from hers to clutch the sheet once more. This time he was watching her work, enraptured. His breath hitched several times over the passing minutes, slowly growing more ragged and erratic. Suddenly, his hand came up again, halting her movements. "If you don't stop now," he growled, "I'm going to come. And I would prefer to do that _inside_ of you, Melina."

_Oh my. _Mel flushed with pleasure. "Really?"

He chuckled and rolled his eyes skyward. "Yes, really." His length twitched against her palm and she pumped him one last time, running her thumb over the head. Growling, Sherlock took her hand and flipped them once more, shifting to lay between her legs, pressing intimately against her. "Now, I have to ask you a question."

"Hmm?"

"Are you a virgin?"

Mel flushed red. "I... yes?"

The consulting detective rolled his eyes. "You either are, or you aren't, Melina. This isn't a multiple choice exam."

Her blush deepened. "I think I am."

He shook his head in disbelief. "How do you not..." He stopped. "Oh..."

"Irene Adler," she breathed, biting her bottom lip as she tried to avoid his searching gaze.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Don't look away from me," he ordered softly. "I'll check, alright? If you are, then we'll have to go slow."

Flushing the color of her hair, Mel watched as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva. With one hand, he pulled the strings on either side of her swimsuit bottoms and chucked them across the room. Groaning softly in approval, Sherlock cupped her audaciously, his wetted fingers teasing.

"Fuck," he swore. The curse sounded so alluring in his accented voice. "You're so wet for me..."

The woman gasped as a finger slipped inside, brushing along her walls. Her head swam with intense bliss.

The consulting detective cocked his head to the side.

The woman inhaled sharply. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," he muttered and the odd look in his eyes passed. "You're a virgin." A slow smile stretched his lips. Hunger flashed through his gaze. "I'm going to be the first- and only- person to take you, Melina."

Her heart stuttered. She flushed. "Lucky you...," she whispered, arching a brow at his delight.

"_Lucky me_," he agreed, applying just a little more force with his fingers, sinking them further into her body.

Her head was spinning. "Oh my god..." She was writhing against his touch.

Sighing, he reached down with his free hand, pressing a stilling palm against her belly. The pressure did something strange to her lower body, fanning the fire that was already burning in the apex of her thighs. His thumb drew circles at the nub above her opening.

"I can see where you've made the mistake distinguishing the two of us," he hummed arrogantly, "But when I make you come, I do hope you will call out my name, not his."

Mel squirmed, but his hand quickly grasped the dip in her waist, arresting any movement.

"Are you on any type of birth control?" Flushing at his abrupt words, the woman nodded timidly. "Good," he breathed, settling onto the dancer, withdrawing his fingers. "I want to be able to feel you around me." With that said, the man placed himself at her entrance. Taking her petite hands in his, Sherlock intertwined their fingers and lifted them above her head.

A sudden, irrational sliver of fear seized Mel.

"Ready, love?" He asked carefully, catching the widening of her eyes. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning like molten silver. He was just barely holding himself back.

Taking a breath, the woman nodded.

In one fluid motion, he slipped inside. Mel winced. It felt like something was tearing. It was undeniably unpleasant. A weird, pinching sensation deep inside. Sherlock stilled his movements immediately, groaning. His head lowered, resting against the woman's shoulder. He bit into the skin there, sinking his teeth in. The intense pleasure/pain went straight to her groin.

"Oh... Sherlock..." A tear fell from the corner of her eye.

"Are you alright, Melina?" He asked, squeezing their clasped hands. Despite his alarmed tone, his hips flexed instinctively.

The woman flinched, swallowing. "Give me a moment."

"Sorry," he grumbled, doing everything in his power not to move. He kissed the tear as he waited, lapping up the salty liquid.

Slowly, the pain from the intrusive, massive length of him, faded. Exhaling shakily, the dancer tilted her hips experimentally. The sting was still there, but certainly more bearable.

"Move. Please."

The consulting detective nodded. "Let me know if you want me to stop."

He eased in further with exquisite slowness and restraint. Shutting his eyes tightly, he thrusted several more times, each occurrence punctuated with a tentative glance, silently wondering if she was alright. He must've seen something in her eyes, because he didn't stop again. Releasing her hands, the consulting detective dropped his weight onto his forearms, lowering his body to press his weight onto her. He snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside the woman as deep as possible.

The pain was replaced by something different. Something intense, clenching in the pit of her belly.

Sherlock pulled out slightly. Then lunged forward again.

Back. Forward.

Mel gasped. The bowstring in her belly was tightening, winding and stretching, threatening to snap. The man seemed to know exactly what to do, playing her like his violin.

He shifted, angling his pelvic bone. Then he thrusted deeply, hitting a spot deep inside of her, making her cry out loudly. Her head was swimming.

"There it is...," Sherlock breathed, grinning triumphantly.

He rocked his hips forward, hitting the same spot. Again. Then again. With precise accuracy, he hit his target over and over. He watched her intensely, his eyes focusing directly on Mel. She lifted her hips to tentatively match his thrusts. Her arms wrapped around his narrow waist. Her nails dug into his back, clawing and scratching.

Letting out an primal sound, Sherlock continued pounding, picking up speed. Not pausing the relentless rhythm, the man cupped the woman's throat, leaning down to press his mouth to hers. He teased with his tongue, mirroring the movement of his thrusts. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, drawing blood. He sucked on the flesh, licking the sting away. Meeting him thrust for thrust, Mel dug her nails into his back, holding on for dear life and urging him on.

The sweet tightening sensation started again, building even more. Sherlock tucked his head into her shoulder once more, pounding on with a renewed ferocity. Turning her head, the dancer nibbled the lobe of his ear. Hot, open-mouthed kisses were placed along his jaw, trailing down to the column of his flawless throat. Overcome with passion, the redhead bit into the side of his neck. The tempo of the man's thrusts stuttered, faltering slightly. Groaning roughly, the man reached down, frantically rubbing her swollen nub.

Mel's back arched off the bed. His name ripped itself from her throat, ringing through the air. The bowstring snapped as she exploded around him, shattering into millions of pieces. Sherlock caught her, arms wrapping around her waist. He thrusted thrice more and stilled, crying out, squeezing his eyes shut. Intense heat filled the woman, making her shiver with unbridled satisfaction.

The kiss that followed was slow and perfect, just a gentle meeting of their lips. The man pulled out of her carefully, rolling onto his side. He ran a hand through his sweat-slicked curls. A sweet, boyish smile curled his lips. His skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration and flushed a gorgeous pink.

"Hey," Mel breathed, laying on her front and propping her head up in her palm. She smiled back at him.

He chuckled, the noise low and rumbling in his throat. "Hello."

"Happy?"

"_Ecstatic_," he corrected, reaching out. He brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear and kissed her tenderly. When he pulled away, his fingers moved down the length of her spine, tracing the individual vertebrae. "God, you are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing into her emerald eyes.

She ducked her head and blushed. Leaning forward, she kissed him once. Then twice.

Sherlock groaned and responded with equal fervor. When they finally pulled back, their chests were heaving.

"Are you alright?" He asked, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Not much."

The consulting detective nodded. "Good." He stooped to feather kisses along her jaw.

"Good?"

He smirked and rolled onto her one more, pressing her into the mattress. She could feel him already growing hard against her side. "If I remember correctly, we have an itinerary, Melina. I'm going to fuck you now. Hard."

Mel flushed scarlet at his words and the predatory glint in his pale eyes.

Then he proceeded to do just that.

* * *

***Fanning herself* Good lord. Is it hot in here? Just me?**

_**P.S. This is my first all out lemon. I'm quite excited and terrified to see what you thought of it. Should I write more? Call it quits? Let me know how I did! **_

_**P.P.S. I know this chapter is coming out a day early, but I wanted to give you all a little bit of a treat for Halloween! :)**_

**Thanks to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading! You guys are amazing! I honestly think I have the best group of people reading my work. **

**Come join the party! We have balloons and cookies! I don't bite! Promise... ;)**

**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	19. Chapter 19: The Scientific Effects

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews:**

**...**

**NobleSilverShadow:** Haha I'm glad you found it sexy! That's very sweet of you to say :) I wish I could be a professional writer. Thank you for reviewing!

**harliesue:** Oh, goodness me! Thank you so much for all of your kind words! Hahaha, I did warn you ;) I'll take this time to apologize profusely to your computer for the fits of smacking. I'm glad that I could bring you to the dark side of lemons ;D Thank you once more for all of your support. It makes me so very happy to read your reviews. Thank you, my dear. Until next time.

**Blueberryymuffin:** Thank you for reviewing :)

**fairytale07:** Hello again! I'm so very happy that you enjoyed the previous chapter :) I'm glad I could make you happy with my Halloween present. "The only thing I would change would be for me to be in Mel's  
place and have this be a reality." I know exactly what you mean, darling. The only problem would be that every woman and/or man on this planet would want to share ;D Focus on your work, silly! Lemons come _after _a hard day of work. No skipping! xD Thanks for reviewing!

**Gwilwillith:** Haha glad I could help with your morning xP Thanks for reviewing.

**xxxMadameMysteryxxx:** Thank you! Here's another update ;)

**BookwormStrawberry:** Thank you :D

**IKhandoZatman:** Yep, that was the first, ahaha. Thanks for reading!

**Jo Gurtrude:** Hahaha don't read this in class! Naughty, naughty ;D Thank you for another sweet review!

**Guest:** Hahaha thanks for reviewing!

**croatian reader1:** Hahahahaha this was hilarious. My sister's boyfriend caught me writing this in between carving pumpkins for Halloween. He threatened to read it like Morgan Freeman to my parents... yeah, I almost punched him out ;p Did your brother know what you were reading? Haha. Oh, I'm incredibly green with envy- which is not a flattering look... x) You're quite lucky my friend, and I wish you all the best on your school trips. I would like to visit... Northern Italy. Ah, please thank your friend for me. Thank you for enjoying the lemon ;D

**Scarletknight17:** Thank you! Moriarty will come back, but later on. I'm not ready to write The Reichenbach Fall... my emotions aren't prepared for it yet :/ Thanks for the review!

**Guest:** Thank you :)

**Lilmuffin2017:** I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for continuing to read and review.

**SirOlives:** Thanks for joining the party! Thanks for the review :)

**Guest:** Thank you for reading and reviewing.

**Guest:** I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey, so... no. :) I kind of just like my men to dominate... haha.

**165:** Hahaha, you and the guest before you asked the same question. Within minutes of each other, actually. No, I'm not using Fifty Shades x)

**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

Mel woke to the feeling of lips on hers. The texture was impossibly soft and gentle, almost like the wing of a butterfly. The mouth brushed over hers again and again, obtaining a sweet little sigh. Her groan was thick with sleep as her eyes opened. It was worth the pounding in her head, as the most beautiful sight she'd even seen was stretched over the length of her body.

"Good morning," Sherlock murmured, placing a series of kisses from the hollow of her ear, across the line of her jaw. Finally reaching their destination, his lips captured hers, teasing and tugging with his tongue and teeth.

"Sherlock... how are you not tired yet...," Mel moaned, trying to turn onto her side to avoid his searching mouth. "We've been at this for hours..."

Silencing her protests with a searing kiss, the man smirked against her mouth.

"You have screamed my name," he stated, nodding slowly. "But... you have not promised to never leave me again." Insurmountable pain consumed his opalescent gaze. In seconds, the mask of indifference was in place, concealing his fears.

Peering up at him through her lashes, she reached up and cupped his beautiful face. "I... I don't think I have the strength to leave you again, Sherlock," she admitted, flushing lightly.

"Promise me," he ordered. His jaw clenched.

The woman exhaled heavily and her entire body deflated. "I, Melina McAllister, promise to never leave the most brilliant man on earth, Sherlock Holmes." She raised a brow at how his chest puffed out as she stroked his enormous ego.

"Thank you," the consulting detective breathed as he tenderly brushed a scarlet tendril behind her ear.

"Happy?"

He nodded. Sensing her frustration, the man smirked. "Immensely."

Mel rolled her eyes and ducked out from underneath his body.

Sherlock turned onto his back to watch her walk across the room. His fingers laced together behind his head. A cheeky grin stretched across his mouth. His observant gaze took in the smarting flesh of her naked backside- still red from when he'd been overcome with passion. It seemed that the dancer had enjoyed his strikes during intercourse as much as he had. _Perhaps she may be willing to try the riding crop,_ he mused. As she reached into the wardrobe for her dressing gown, the man took in the smattering of love bites and scratches across the flesh of her spine and neck. Pleasure filled him at the sight. He had claimed his woman. And he would continue to do so in the coming years... The sudden thought shook the consulting detective to his very core. _Years... _he mused. He shivered with bliss at the thought. _Three hundred and sixty-five days of **this**. Spending each moment with the woman who rids my boredom- _

Mel could feel his eyes on her. Slipping on her thin bathrobe, the redhead turned. The man was completely naked. The dark purple bed sheets were covering his lower half, showing off the delectable V of his hips. The consulting detective was deep thought- in the recesses of his mind palace. His palms were pressed together in prayer, fingers against his lips. Usually, his eyes closed when he was in the state; but Sherlock was focused solely on her, gaze following her around the room. The intensity of his expression made the woman shiver.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

_He can hear me. He usually shuts everything out when he goes into his mind palace... _"I-I'm going to take a bath," she whispered, walking around to his side of the bed.

"Alright...," he hummed. The change in him was instantaneous. His body melted from its frigid, statuesque state. Slipping out from under the covers, Sherlock stood. "May I join you?"

Flushing at his unabashed nakedness, Mel nodded. "Of course."

Smiling gently, the man took her hand. "Lead the way, Miss McAllister."

She did as he asked, pulling the gorgeous man behind her. They reached the nearest bathroom in moments. The redhead flicked the lights on, allowing the soft white light to illuminate the room. Along with the majority of the beach house, the bathroom was entirely white with modern features. Clean tile covered the floors and walls. The sink was a floating basin attached to the wall, with smooth river rocks at the bottom. The bath itself was almost too large. It was not a tub or a shower. It was akin to a pool, carved into the floor. The depth was at least the height of two fully-grown men. The size itself was almost half of the boys' flat back in London.

"My brother does like to prove his extravagance and wealth, does he not?" Sherlock muttered, taking in the room.

Mel chuckled. "He does like to make an impression..." She paused, feeling the man's large hands on her sides. He tugged at the ties of her robe, allowing the material to fall from her shoulders and onto the cool tile floor. The Scottish woman walked to the bath and turned on the water, testing its heat with her fingers. When it was only several degrees from scalding, the redhead filled the pool. Billowing clouds of steam clouded the room, shrouding its features. Several moments later, a soft melody floated through the room. _Her song._.. Smiling softly, the dancer listened to Sherlock sing through the dense white fog. She jumped as a solid body brushed against her back. A large palm pressed firmly against her belly, forcing her against the line of his frame. His erection was hard against the small of her back in needy promise. The consulting detective's humming continued as his lips kissed a trail of hot fire down the length of her spine.

"Sherlock..."

He shushed her swiftly, teeth grazing across her shoulder. The melody resumed. His talented fingers brushed across her other shoulder, coming to cup the side of her throat. His fingers glanced over her throbbing pulse, moving to Mel's chin. Slowly, the man tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his heated gaze. His eyes were molten silver, bubbling with fire and want. All the while, the deep rumbling of his voice continued, stroking the notes as they floated through the air, mirroring his fingers and mouth.

"You should... sing more often...," Mel breathed as his mouth closed around a random spot on her neck. She gasped as she sucked the flesh into his mouth, biting and laving. The sensation went straight to her groin, causing all thought to flee from her mind. When he pulled away, the woman groaned at the loss.

"Mycroft never liked my voice," he muttered. "He would tell me to shut up on a regular basis. As did my father."

Mel's heart throbbed. The image of a young Sherlock flitted through her mind. The shock of dark, silken curls. The pale, perfect skin. The thought of his small, intelligent face crumpling, wounded by the things his brother and father said to him...

He could sense the woman's distress. "Neither men were especially kind to me when I grew up. So eventually, I stopped singing," he stated, brushing his fingers across her jaw. The hand at her belly flexed its hold, pushing her flush against him. He stared into her eyes as he kissed her mouth tantalizingly, just a mere touch of his lips.

"S-Someone must've heard you..."

He smiled and pulled back, as if he was thinking of a memory. "My mother...," he whispered, almost reverently. "She like to hear me play my violin and sing to her. It was usually in the garden of the estate, when she was reading." He smiled fondly, eyes sparkling. "I remember the smell of her rose bushes..."

"You love her very much," Mel stated, watching his far-away expression. "I can see it in the way you think about her."

"Yes," Sherlock admitted, focusing once more on the redhead in his arms. "She is one of the only women I will trust in my lifetime." Leaning down, the man captured her mouth. Several moment later, they both pulled away, chests heaving. "You," he breathed, "Are another."

The dancer's eyes widened. "What are you saying, Sherlock?"

The consulting detective shrugged. He paused their conversation to stop the flow of water into the pool, as it was almost flooding onto the tile. Taking the woman's hand, he led Mel into the bath. Stepping into the water, Sherlock sat on the bench inside, and helped the redhead after him. His arms wrapped securely around her waist, tugging her into his naked lap.

Sighing, the man attempted to formulate the words that were flickering through his frantic mind. "I have analyzed the responses of my body to your presence," he started. "As you are aware, lust is driven by the sex hormones oestrogen and testosterone. Both have been readily present in my body the past several years, even before and after your arrival in London. I managed to separate them from my life, since I need a clear mind to be competent at my work."

Mel's brow creased. She tried to turn and face the man, but he held her fast.

"Most women have succeeded in the ability of completely turning me away from the thought of sentiment," he continued. His accented baritone was clinical and detached. "Then...," he exhaled and his voice warmed. "You came into my life, Melina."

The redhead's heartbeat skyrocketed. Her eyes widened. "Sherlock..."

"-The second stage began almost immediately: Attraction," he stated, cutting her off. It was almost as if he was reciting a speech. "The monoamine neuro-transmitters were already releasing high levels of Dopamine, Norepinephrine, and Serotonin into my blood."

The technical terms flew through his mouth impossibly fast, making Mel thankful for the degree she held in Neurobiology.

"The dopamine managed to eradicate my addiction to cigarettes; which I gather John is most certainly pleased about." He smirked. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against her ribs. "But the other two...," he growled. "They were quite devastating to my work. Sweating, racing heartbeat, temporary insanity along with the never-ending images...," the man trailed off and exhaled heavily. "You cannot begin to imagine the amount of times I claimed you in my mind."

Mel flushed and shifted on his lap, feeling his hard length pressing against her backside. He grunted and stilled her movements.

"Please let me finish, Melina," he ground out through clenched teeth. "If I take you now, I will have to explain this all again later, which I'd rather not do."

"Sorry...," the redhead whispered, face flaming.

"Apology accepted," Sherlock hummed, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "The third stage is attachment."

Her heart was thundering in her chest, beating at her ribcage.

"I have been in this stage since our time at my brother's estate," the consulting detective admitted, swirling his fingers over the woman's flat belly. "It was devastating to be with without you for these past four and a half months. It took me exponentially longer to obtain Ms. Adler's phone and the code to retrieve its contents...," he paused, growling in aggravation. "Once John and I managed to finish the case, I came straight here. I came here... To tell you..."

_Oh my god... _Mel's heart flew up into her throat. She swallowed, attempting to regain her composure. "Tell me what, Sherlock?"

The man just groaned, fitting his head into the crook of her neck. "Last night, high levels of oxytocin were released into my blood during orgasm." He stopped himself and snorted lightly. "Well... _Multiple_ orgasms, if you wish to smoothe out the technicalities-"

The sound of his deep voice caressing the word made the woman flush with embarrassment. "_Sherlock!_" _How that hell can he make everything sound so dirty?_

He chuckled roughly, the sound coming from the back of his throat. "Oh come now, Melina, don't be coy," the fingers against her ribs moved lower, thrumming across the skin. His action caused ripples to form across the surface of the still water. "You probably know the science of this better than I do," he admitted, sounding only mildly petulant.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Mel gasped, feeling him cup her mound under the water.

"Then there is the vasopressin," Sherlock continued, his voice nothing but cool and calculated. "Tell me what it does, Melina."

The redhead gulped loudly. "Also known as antidiuretic hormone or ADH, it helps with water retention in the kidney, playing a key role in homeostasis. It's synthesized in the hypothalamus and stored in the vesicles at the posterior pituitary before being released into the blood." The woman swallowed, attempting to slow her words. "I- uh, when it's released directly into the brain, it is suggested that the hormone is significant in sexual motivation and long-term bonding in relationships...," she trailed off, voice beginning to fail.

"Well done, Miss McAllister," Sherlock praised quietly. In a single, fluid movement, he spun the woman to face him.

Inhaling sharply at the sudden shift in position, Mel settled against him, straddling his lap. Her hands lifted into his unruly curls, steadying and anchoring them together. His large hands were at her spine, trailing across the flesh. His pale eyes stared intensely at her face, seemingly taking in her features. Memorizing the pigment in her cheeks. The arch of her auburn brows.

"You are a work of art," Sherlock breathed. He reached up and cupped her face. "So beautiful..."

"Sherlock..."

Leaning up, the consulting detective placed the most tender of kisses to her waiting mouth. It was so very different than any before it. The kiss was slow and calm. It didn't tease or promise. There was no heat or passion. It was a two-way conversation that didn't need words. It was imploring; begging. Sherlock was telling her all the things he couldn't say out loud. He was allowing her a glimpse into the depth of his emotions. Mel's face was damp with tears when they finally pulled back. She was sobbing quietly. Sherlock held her close, allowing the woman to cling to him. She hid her face in his shoulder, just breathing in the scent of his skin.

"Even though the word has been abused in the past to ridiculous extremes-" He stopped himself, clearing his throat. "If I have to love anyone in this lifetime...," he breathed, lifting her face so he could look into her shining emerald eyes. "Melina McAllister... I want it to be you."

Mel's heart was throbbing and threatening to burst. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I do hope that you not crying out of disappointment," Sherlock said, arching a questioning brow at her silence.

The woman just shook her head, laughing softly. "I can't believe... I never thought you would..."

"Did you actually think I would fly across the entire Atlantic- just to force a confession of love from you, without knowing if I felt the same?"

"I knew," the redhead admitted as he reached up, wiping the tears from her face. "I didn't think you would ever get around to saying them."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose. It wasn't as painful as I suspected."

Mel stared into his eyes, tears starting to fade. Fingers curling in his raven-hued locks, the dancer brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was certainly more passionate than the last, but not in any way less meaningful. She tentatively tilted the man's head, hands fisted in his hair- effectively changing the dynamic between them. The man allowed her to deepen the kiss, enjoying the feel of her dominating his mouth. The switch in power was a heady mix of intrigue and zeal. The woman rocked against him, searching for some kind of friction. Sherlock's groan left his lips in a whispered hush. The sound was beautiful. It went straight into the pit of her belly, clenching her insides.

"Please, Melina...," the man pleaded. He inhaled shakily when she made the same motion; a liquid circle- teasing his hard length. He attempted to thrust upwards, but the woman broke all connection between them, swimming out into the center of the pool.

Giggling softly, Mel dove down into the water. Opening her eyes, she saw that he immediately swam after her, reaching her easily in moments. Under the warm water, The man slipped his fingers into the length of her hair- which floated around them like rust-hued seaweed- and kissed her fervently. His mouth sealed over hers, tangling their tongues and exchanging air. The taste of him was somehow more sweet than it had ever been before; sunshine, mint, and that flavour at was all Sherlock. Bubbles of air floated up to the surface as they continued, ignoring the need for fresh oxygen. His free hand splayed over her backside, grasping and kneading the flesh. Desire instantaneously pooled between her thighs.

Sherlock kicked to the surface, whether because he needed air or because he was tired of playing the game, Mel didn't know. His curls were plastered to his alabaster face when they surfaced, gasping greedily for oxygen. Swimming them both back to the submerged bench with an unbelievably strong stroke, the consulting detective growled predatorily. Tossing the hair from his eyes, the man sat her down. One of his thighs slipped between hers, effectively spreading her legs. Sherlock shifted between them. Staring into the woman's eyes, he reached up to grip the edge of the pool, boxing her in. He took her mouth as his own, asserting his dominance over the redhead once more. His teeth nipped at her full bottom lip, sucking on the flesh. Mel groaned.

In one smooth stroke, the man entered her. They both moaned. For the dancer, the sensations of pain and pleasure melted into one, stimulating her already aching flesh. The heated water around them only added to the sensations. Bringing his knees onto the bench, Sherlock started to move inside her, driving himself deeper and deeper. The water splashed around them, joining the symphony and sounds of connecting skin. It took moments for him to find the spot again; the one that brought her so close to the edge.

"Let go, love...," he breathed, reaching to brush his fingers across the bundle of nerves.

That was all it took. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her screams as she erupted around him. His thrusts grew erratic. He jerked several times as he emptied himself deep inside the woman. Sherlock's head found her bare shoulder. His mouth pressed perfect, languid kisses to the side of her throat.

In the minutes that followed, they slowly washed each other, learning every curve and line of their bodies. They switched positions so Mel could wash his hair with the expensive oils. She sat on his lap and gently dragged her fingers through the length of his hair, massaging his scalp. A deep rumbling came from Sherlock's chest and the woman pulled back.

"Are you... purring?" She asked, laughing softly.

Blood filled the consulting detective's cheeks in a rare flush. His eyes- with had fallen shut- opened to look up at her. "That feels exceptional, Melina. Please don't stop." With that said, his eyes shut once more, head lolling on his shoulders.

Grinning at his sudden boyish nature, Mel thoroughly massaged the oils into his hair, only stopping to have him dip his head into the water and rinse.

Once they were both- mostly- clean, they dried each other with the large fluffy bath towels. Sherlock took long than she did, pausing to dry her breasts. He pressed a hot kiss on the swell of each. Then he dried her belly. Then the area between her legs.

"Sherlock..."

The man hushed her and quickly moved on, going over the rest of her body without a pause.

Mel took his hand as they walked back to the bedroom. Sherlock excused himself, claiming that he brought a bag of his things from London, and had left it in the front room. While he was gone, the redhead quickly stripped the large bed of its sheets, throwing them into the laundry hamper, along with all of their discarded clothes from the day before. Retrieving another set of sheets from the closet, she smoothed them onto the mattress. They were a lovely indigo colour and made of the silkiest satin she'd ever touched. She was blushing at the thoughts that filled her head when Sherlock returned, already dressed. He looked almost too handsome in a dark grey button-down and a pair of black trousers. The shirt had several buttons undone, showing off the horizontal planes of his sculpted collarbone.

The man chuckled as he took in her lack of clothing and the new sheets.

"Removing the evidence of our coupling was more important to you than getting dressed?"

The woman raised brow. "I thought you liked me better naked."

"Touché."

Laughing at his crooked grin, Mel walked over to the wardrobe. She pulled on another bikini. This one was a pretty sky blue with lace cut-outs on the sides of the bottoms. The top was a strapless bandeau-style with a small bit of ruching . She could see in the mirror on the wall that the consulting detective was watching her every move, taking in the color of the material against her glowing, sun-kissed skin. The woman pulled her hair back into a loose chignon as she looked through her things.

Over the past eighteen weeks, Mel had accumulated quite the collection of clothing for the hot Brazilian weather. When she first arrived, she realized that none of her clothes were light or airy enough for the endless heat. She managed to obtain a completely new wardrobe.

Humming softly to herself, she finally selected a thin white tank top and a flowing chiffon circle skirt. The deep navy looked lovely with the tan of her skin and the color of her swimsuit. The material was cut in a high-low style, moving from mid-thigh then down to the floor. The pearl earrings Sherlock had given to her in London were present as always, finishing the look off nicely.

The consulting detective exhaled impatiently and finally took her hand, pulling her from the room.

"Hey!" She laughed, tugging at his strong grip.

"I'm hungry," the man whined, slipping into the large kitchen area. The appliances were modern and top of the line.

Mel kissed him lightly and moved behind the counter, watching as he sat up in one of the barstools. "What would you like?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. Food. Nourishment."

"Wow... So descriptive...," she teased, unable to hide her grin.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Whatever you make will taste impeccable, I'm sure."

The woman shook her head but went to work, gathering the ingredients. In a bowl, she mixed together flour, baking powder, sugar, a bit of cocoa powder and a pinch of salt. In another bowl, she whisked an egg in with some milk and oil. Stirring the two together, the redhead walked over to the stove. She placed the bowl down on the counter and moved back to the island at the center of the room. She smiled sweetly at the consulting detective- who was watching her move through the kitchen.

"Could you pass me a frying pan, please?" She motioned up to the skillets, which hung from the ceiling on hooks. They both knew she was tall enough to reach them, but the man did as she asked anyway, easily pulling the item down for her.

"Here you are, Miss McAllister," he murmured, slipping elegantly from the stool to pass it over.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she breathed. She purposefully brushed her chest against his, arching her back slightly. Just as his hands started to twitch at his sides, the woman stepped away. She danced back to the stove and turned one of the burners. Placing the skillet down on the hot surface, she mixed the batter thoroughly before spooning it into the frying pan. It sizzled slightly as it cooked. Once bubbles started to form around the edges, Mel shook the pan back and forth. Then, in a single, uninterrupted movement, she made a flicking motion with her wrist. The pancake flew up into the air before landing back in the pan. It landed perfectly in the center, the already cooked side of the golden pancake facing up.

"Sherlock, would you pass me a plate, please?"

He didn't answer, but the sound of his bare feet on the floor signified that he had heard her. He brought over a large dinner plate, brushing his chest to her back. She shivered at the brief contact, but it was severed when he moved away, placing the plate on the counter next to the stove.

"Would you like help, Melina?" Sherlock pondered, touching her elbow lightly.

Exhaling a calming breath, the redhead slipped the pancake onto the plate. She poured more of the batter into the pan before answering. "Would you like to make something to drink?"

He hummed softly. "I can take over here if you want to make some coffee."

Biting her bottom lip, the woman nodded. She stepped away, allowing the consulting detective to step forward. He swiftly rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing sinewy muscle and pale flesh of his forearms. Taking his hand, the woman went through the movements, teaching him how to flip the pancake correctly. Her finger brushed across the prominent veins at the top of his hand. She pressed herself flush against the line of his back, arms reaching around him.

"Like this?" He asked, jerking his wrist sharply.

Chuckled, Mel wrapped her arms tighter around him. "Not quite...," she breathed. She flicked their wrists as one, flipping the pancake correctly. "There."

Sherlock pushed more firmly against her body. "Like this?" His voice deepened, thickening with want. He made the same error again.

The woman took one of her hands from his and brushed it over his abdomen. They moved together, rolling in perfect synchronization. "Now, you try." The consulting detective flipped the pancake perfectly. "Good," she said, clearing her throat. The sensation of their bodies pressed together did dangerous things to her nerves. "I'll go make some coffee...," she whispered, backing away from him. His back seemed to stiffen at the loss, but he nodded.

They worked silently through the kitchen. Once breakfast was finished, they sat at bar together, sharing the single plate. Sherlock let out a tiny noise of pleasure. Mel pause mid bite, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Okay?" She asked, raising a brow.

"Mhmm...," he moaned through another mouthful. He took a sip of coffee and made the same noise. "How did you-"

"Black, two sugars?"

He peered over at the woman next to him. "I haven't had coffee with you before. How do you..."

Mel shrugged and resumed chewing. She took a swig of her drink before speaking. "You seem to forget that you are not that only person who can deduce facts, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock just watched her for several moments before going back to eating, quickly destroying the stack of pancakes. The redhead let him, holding her cup between her hands.

"When was the last time you had a proper meal?"

He paused to breathe. "Last... Tuesday?"

"You don't sound too sure about that."

"It could've been the Saturday before that. I can't really remember." He brushed it off as he finished the remaining food. Sighing quietly, Mel pressed her lips to his cheek and took the dishes to the sink. She rinsed and dried them quickly, placing them back in the cupboard. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her petite waist, pulling her into his muscled chest.

"What would you like to do today?" He asked, hot breath fanning across the back of her neck.

"Hmmm, there's a large Farmer's Market just off the beach. I thought we could go take a look." She willed the beating of her heart to slow.

Sherlock nodded. "Very well."

...

Mel browsed the endless booths on her own. She'd lost Sherlock far behind in the crowd. He'd seen a tent filled with animal skulls and bounded off towards it. The woman had a cloth bag over her shoulder, filled with fresh fruits and vegetables.

She passed a flower vendor and smiled kindly at the woman. The scent of all the flowers in one space was a cacophony. The redhead brushed her hand across the gerberas and lilies at the front of the tent. Then she reached over and touched a beautiful planted orchid, brushing her fingers over its delicate petals. It was the purest white, only its center was yellow with violet speckles. She leaned in, taking in the scent. It was light and barely there. Her eyes drifted to single red roses. Thinking back to the morning, she purchased a red rose and the orchid.

When she was leaving the booth, Mel caught sight of the consulting detective. His obsidian curls bounced as he walked through the crowd. He grinned brightly when he caught sight of her.

"I bought a platypus skull," he stated, showing her the wrapped up box in his hand as they walked on. "It's at least one hundred years old. The shopkeeper was an idiot. He kept telling me it was a fox skull." He snorted, as if the idea was absolutely ridiculous.

The dancer chuckled at his antics. "Did you correct him?"

"No. He would've made me pay much more if he knew the value."

Mel pulled the rose from behind her back in a flourish and smiled up at him. "I got this for you."

Sherlock seemed taken aback. He blinked owlishly for several moments. "I, uh- is it not the man who is supposed to give the woman roses in a relationship?"

"You were telling me about your mother this morning and her rose bushes. I thought you would like it..." She shrugged, allowing her hand to drop. "If you don't like it, I can just give it-"

He silenced her with a swift kiss to her mouth. His tongue breeched the seam of her closed lips, tangling with hers. The locals let out whistles and catcalls.

Mel pulled away, blushing wildly. "W-What was that for?"

"You listened to me. And you did something that can be classified as 'sweet', in a normal, monogamous relationship. I thought it would be appropriate to thank you." The man plucked his gift from her hand. "Thank you for the rose, Melina." He brought the flower to his nose, inhaling the distinct scent. His eyes closed for several moments. Smiling softly, he took her hand and led her down the street. When they passed a spacious tent selling handmade jewelry, Sherlock pulled her inside.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

He ignored her. The man spouted off a rapid sentence in Portuguese, addressing the shopkeeper. The redhead raised a brow. The old woman nodded at whatever he had asked and waved them in. The consulting detective tugged Mel after him. The vendor lifted a velvet box from behind her work station and opened the lid. A stunning array of freshwater pearl jewelry shimmered inside of the black velvet. The dancer gasped.

"They're so beautiful..."

"American?" The shopkeeper's English was thick with her accent. She blinking over the counter at them.

Mel nodded. "Yes, I am. My partner is from England." She noticed the man's fingers tightened around hers infinitesimally at the word.

"Ah. Your Portuguese is very good."

Sherlock nodded curtly. "Thank you. I was wondering if you have a bracelet? Something smaller. My _partner's _wrists are quite small." His tongue stroked the word, as if he was testing the flavor on his taste buds. The dancer peered up at him through her lashes. His face was void of emotion, but his eyes were alight with fire, signifying that he was deep in contemplation.

The vendor nodded and pulled out a small string of white, freshwater pearls. She passed it over to Sherlock, flipping back to Portuguese. He responded quickly to her, taking the bracelet in his fingers. The sight was so odd. He passed his rose to the redhead as he fastened the piece around her wrist. It fit perfectly. The pearls were strung and knotted into place. They were natural spheres, not manufactured plastic. Mel could see the finish, gorgeous and shining. The clasp was sterling silver. It struck her how perfectly the piece matched her earrings. The work itself was impeccable.

"It's beautiful, Sherlock...," she sighed quietly, moving to take it off. The man's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her movements. She glanced up. He wasn't looking at her. The consulting detective was handing over money to the shopkeeper and thanking her.

"Have a nice day," the old woman said. "Watch out for the sky. It's going to rain, it is."

Sherlock thanked her once more and bid her a good day. Ignoring Mel's protests, he pulled her from the booth.

"Did you just buy this for me?" She cried, trailing behind the man as they walked through the crowd.

"Yes, Melina," he sighed, as if he was expecting some kind of fight. "Can I have my rose back now?" He lifted his hand, asking for his gift back.

She passed him the flower, smiling.

Then the skies opened up. People shrieked. In seconds, it was pouring. Mel could barely see Sherlock's back in front of her. The man was running, lifting the box holding his platypus skull above his head to save himself from the torrential downpour. The redhead behind him cried out, sprinting to catch up with him. Her leather gladiator-style sandals pounded the rain-slicked street. She winced as twinge of pain sparked through her left ankle.

In minutes, they were running across the beach- beach house in sight. Sherlock suddenly stopped, throwing his things down onto the sand. He tugged the bag of groceries from her shoulder, taking care with the potted orchid inside. Once the bag touched the beach, the consulting detective pulled her into his arms. Mel laughed wildly as he lifted the woman into his arms, spinning her around and around. The frigid rain pelted their skin. She felt like a little girl, dancing in the middle of the rain. The deep rumble of thunder sounded over the Atlantic. The man paid the sound no heed. He lowered the redhead to the sand, blinking rain from his eyes.

He pulled her in for a searing kiss, tasting and branding her mouth. The woman gasped. Her hands lifted, palms pressing against the damp material of his button-down, which clung to his muscled frame. His fingers tangled in her soaked hair, anchoring her to his lips. He lowered down to her height, cupping her throat. Arching her back, Mel met his tongue in the formidable battle of dominance. The rain continued to pour around them, slicking their skin. Only when Sherlock shivered from the rain did she pull away, gasping for breath. She blinked up at him through the falling downpour. His chest was rising and falling with the force of his breaths. His cheeks were flushed from the sudden cold temperature.

"Let's get inside," he called over the thunder. He offered her a hand once they'd finished picking up their strewn things from the beach. A rough cough pulled from his lungs, startling Mel.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." He smiled. They ran back to the beach house, jumping up the spiral staircase. Once they reached cover, the man ran a hand through his sopping wet locks and grinned crookedly. "'Alright' is quite the understatement, Melina," he murmured, tracing her jaw and throat with his rose.

Mel couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

**For some reason, I really loved writing this chapter... :)**

**Thanks you so much to everyone who's fav/follow/review/reading! You guys are amazing! I honestly think I have the best group of people reading my work. **

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**Thanks again for reading! I hope you guys have a great week!**


	20. Chapter 20: Every Storm Must Pass

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews:**

**...**

**Jo Gurtrude:** I am so very glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm trying to find the balance between emotion, lemons, and substance. Oh, you caught the cough, did you... You are one of the few who said anything about it. I do enjoy twenty questions so... sure. I live in Canada. What is... your favorite color? ;D Thanks for reading!

**TsukiLovesSnape:** I'm glad that you continue to enjoy this story :) thank you once again for reading and reviewing!

**Frostivy:** "_Hot flushes are a major occurrence when reading this chapter_." Can I use this statement as my warning at the beginning of chapters that contain lemons? ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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**xxxMadameMysteryxxx:** Thanks! And here is the new chapter, a day early :) Do you think I should update on Wednesdays regularly instead of Thursdays?

**IKhandoZatman:** Thank you! Nope, they have their own apartment. They only came over cause we were carving pumpkins. Haha... so awkward.

**croatian reader1:** Thank you for reading and reviewing once more! Oh, I'm not great at writing at all. I just write down things I want to see and scenes I enjoy. Practice is also very important. Oh goodness, you manage to make me feel so very popular with your sweet words. Oh, Cumberbatch. He is such a wonderful actor, isn't he? I listened to the song you listed; even though I have absolutely no idea what any of it meant, I know it was quite beautiful. Instead of writing out all of the lyrics, I'm going to give you some homework. I will write out a selections of songs I believe are perfect for this story. Take a listen to them, and let me know what you think :)

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**fairytale07:** Thank you so much! I'm glad you've enjoyed the break in paradise, as it is at an end :/ No, I enjoy jealous Sherlock as well. He is quite attractive that way :) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Dez10d2Rite:** Nope, squealing is never a bad thing. If it was, I'd be in quite a bit of trouble every time I get a new review :) Thanks for reviewing!

**harliesue:** I love your reviews. I'll never get tired of hearing all the lovely things you say about my work. Thank you so much for continuing to read and review._ "That cough. I don't know why I am so stuck on that one aspect when you wrote so much more, but it just caught me off guard. I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe it was just a tickle of the throat, but I feel like you something far more devious planned out." _Hmmm... x) This chapter is quite emotionally demanding, so take a deep breath now, lovely. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

**Red-BVB:** Hahaha thank you so much for your enlightening words ;) I do thank you for joining us, and I hope that you continue to read and review!

**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

The storm continued into the next day. And the day after.

The rain battered the roof of the beach house continuously. The thunder was a ceaseless undercurrent of growling- always followed by flashes of white-hot light. The lightning came in jagged, violent streaks, piercing the gloom of grey clouds and sky. It was a call and answer between the two- thunder and lightning. The growling started, rude and abrasive, interrupting the pounding downpour. Seconds later, the flashes of light would come- almost like a network of veins and arteries over the Atlantic.

Mel's arms were folded over her chest as she looked out the window, watching the angry waves of the ocean crash against the shoreline. She was trying to retain even the slightest trace of her body heat by wrapping her arms round her torso. She didn't have many of her things from London anymore- as she hadn't planned on returning. A shiver of frigid ice ran through her slight frame. The hair on her arms stood at attention. Along with the white tinge overwhelming her tanned skin, the physical evidence was obvious.

_Jesus... I'm cold..._

Before the thought finished, she felt a hard body brush against her back. Sherlock's spicy cologne filled her senses, warming the air around her. His arms wrapped round her waist, pulling the woman flush against his chest.

"Come back to bed," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the curve of her ear. His accented baritone was rough with sleep; as it always was in the morning. "It's much warmer there. We could share body heat... I've heard that it works quite well in dire situations..."

Smiling softly at his playful attitude, the redhead glanced over her shoulder at the consulting detective. "I'm seeing through this little plot of yours, Mr. Holmes." She turned in his arms to face him. Mel reached up to link her arms around his neck and grinned.

Sherlock chuckled lowly as his hands moved down to glance over the curve of her waist. "Hmm... What _plot_ would that be?"

Ignoring the twinge in her left ankle, the woman stood on the very tips of her toes, so they were at the same height. "_You just want me naked_...," she breathed, brushing her lips across the length of his sculpted jaw. She couldn't help but smile deviously as she felt the man shudder and pull her even closer.

"Yes," he admitted blatantly, smirking wickedly. "That fact is obvious, Melina." His silver gaze flickered between her eyes and mouth as he hovered, just a hirsbreadth away. He dipped his head swiftly to capture her lips, catching the dancer off guard. She let out a little noise of surprise at the sudden ferocity of his mouth. Almost instantly, he slipped his tongue past her closed lips. His dominance over the redhead was obvious in the way she melted against him, barely holding herself in place with the arms around his neck. His grip moved lower, ascertaining the subtle curve of her hips.

He stopped for a moment, eyes falling shut. The man swayed oddly, back and forth.

"Sherlock?" She asked, pulling away slightly. She watched as he blinked once. Twice. It was strange.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine." He smiled faintly. The kiss resumed.

Mel inhaled sharply. The man's teeth nipped and tugged at her full bottom lip, pulling and sucking at the tender flesh. Her knees felt weak. Her head swam from the lack of oxygen, coupled with the overwhelming presence that could only be described as Sherlock Holmes. Hands under her upper thighs, the consulting detective lifted the woman into the air, pausing the kiss; only to trail fire down the length of her throat. She gasped loudly as his tongue and teeth nibbled and lapped the fading bruise at her pulse point. She managed to wrap her legs around his narrow hips, squirming subtly against him. The belt buckle of his pants rubbed her swollen bundle of nerves. Sherlock growled, the sound rippling dangerously through his body. He lifted the woman up onto the counter of the bar in the kitchen. Spreading her thighs quickly, the man pulled away- going to work at unfastening his belt.

Then a vicious, hoarse cough ripped from his throat. Sherlock turned just in time, releasing the sound into his elbow. Mel frowned immediately, all lustful feelings quickly fading. Once he finished, he smiled ruefully at the woman seated atop the counter and moved in to resume the previous escapade. The dancer reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

"Sherlock, stop."

The man seemed confused. His dark brows knitted together. "_Stop?_" He questioned, wondering if he had heard correctly.

Mel hopped off the counter, lips pursed. "What was that?"

Sherlock groaned. "You have interrupted our sexual entanglement to grace me with your poor hearing?" He sneered slightly, twisting his handsome face. "I said, "_Stop?_", referencing your previous comment."

The woman suppressed the flicker of anger that bubbled up in her throat. It had been almost half of a year since he had spoken to her in any sort of cruel way. "That cough," she whispered, gritting her teeth. _Keep calm, Mel. He's like a kid that just had his toys taken away. He isn't mad at you._

"What about it?" The consulting detective hissed, taking a step back.

Mel swallowed. "The first time I heard it was when we were on the beach, when the storm first started. You look like you're about to faint-"

"You're keeping tally of my bodily functions?" The man chuckled cruelly, rolling his pale eyes. "How lovely," he spat sarcastically.

"W-why are you speaking to me like that?" She asked quietly, stepping forward. "I'm worried about you, Sherlock. If you have a cold-"

"I _coughed_," he spat. "I sincerely apologize Miss McAllister. If I wasn't allowed to do so-" He was interrupted by another hacking cough. The cough was disturbing and wet, coming from deep in his lungs. He staggered back with the force of it, falling into the wall.

The dancer rushed forward. "Sherlock-!"

She reached out to help him but he batted her hands away aggressively. In his alacrity, the man's palm connected with the side of her neck. The blow let out a resounding _smack_.

"_Don't touch me, Melina_."

That one sentence shook the woman to her very core, causing her to momentarily forget the brutal sting in her palms and neck. _Why is he acting like this? Why would he hit me..._ She looked down at her hands, with were tinged red from his rage. She reached up to cup her throat. It was smarting and tender. When she looked up, her eyes were watering.

Instantly realizing what he had done, the man's eyes widened. He raised his hands, as one would do while trying to calm a wild animal. Pushing away from the wall, he took a single step forward. He swayed again. His complexion was sickly white, covered with a sheen of perspiration. Mel met the advance in turn, moving back; keeping the distance between them. Sherlock tried again. Rushing around the bar, the woman watched him with fright in her wide emerald eyes. Streaks of salty tears trailed down her flushed cheeks.

"Melina...," he breathed gently, trying his best to not spook her. "I shouldn't have done that. I don't know why-" He was interrupted by another cough- this one much more nasty than the last.

The woman stared at him from across the bar. Her chin quivered slightly. Her muscles tensed, prepared to bolt at any second. Shaking her head, she covered her mouth with her red hands. She wasn't able to conceal the sob that fell from her lips. _Run. Just run away... _Her subconscious wailed pitifully, curling up on itself in the farthest corner of her mind. The man's face crumbled instantaneously at the small noise. His entire body deflated. One of hands fell to his side dejectedly, the other coming up to run through his wild curls.

"Melina-"

Mel shook her head once more, sobbing louder. The hole in her chest- which had been laying dormant since the man's arrival- came back with a vengeance, swallowing the ripples of shock and grief greedily. It was like a cancer or a black hole, consuming up all the negativity; slowly growing to engulf her chest.

"You... hit me...," she choked out in disbelief. Her hand was still on her neck. It felt hot where he had hit it.

Sherlock's eyes widened even more. "I'm so sorry-" His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly.

"Are you," Mel asked monotonously. She glanced up at him momentarily but chose instead to look away, focusing on the countertop. The scarlet rose she had bought him sat in a flawless crystal vase; a beacon of hope between them.

"Jesus...," he cursed, running both of his hands through his hair, mussing the unruly curls even more. "How could you say that? How could you even _think _that?!"

A sudden feeling of numbness spread through the woman's limbs. The pit was growing. "I once thought you would never try to hurt me," she said, finally looking at him. Well... his shoulder. She knew if she gazed into those silver eyes, her resolve would crumble. "But I suppose I was wrong."

The man gulped. All of the color was gone from his face; leaving it ashen and void of warmth. He looked a mix of deathly ill and absolutely terrified.

"I would never-" _Cough_. "-hurt you."

Laughing humorlessly, Mel took another step away, moving into the hall. It was so much easier to channel anger than her fear and hurt. "You slapped me, Sherlock. Because I was... what? Concerned? Because I care about you?"

Sherlock followed the redhead at a reasonable distance, not invading her personal space. It wasn't the time to test her boundries. He coughed twice more. Then he swayed, barely catching himself on the wall.

"It will always come to this, won't it?" She whispered in a hushed voice, her gaze focused on the wooden floorboards under her feet.

Dread crossed over the consulting detective's features. "...What are you saying?"

Just before the door to their bedroom, Mel paused and faced him. She steeled herself as she finally met his beautiful stare. "I'm saying that it's always... this. You can't let me get close to you. And when you do," she swallowed, "It's temporary."

"We've been intimate, Melina," Sherlock muttered, trying to justify his actions. "You are the only person I've allowed close to me, besides John."

The woman rubbed her throbbing temples. "You said that you loved me."

"I do," he stated, nodding his head with complete surety. "More than anything."

"Then you have to let me help you," Mel murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted. "You have to stop pushing me away, Sherlock. I'm tired of this dance. I'm so _tired_."

He reached out a cautious hand. She flinched slightly, backing away. He pressed on, finally brushing his fingertips across her cheekbone. Despite the howling of her subconscious, the dancer melted into his touch, allowing him to cup her face.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock breathed. "I will never touch you like that again." He stroked her cheek with the calloused pad of his thumb.

The woman shuddered, remembering the look on his face when he was backed up against the wall. The repugnance. The abhorrence. It was akin to that of a caged animal, cornered by a hunter.

"If you do," she started, pulling the hand from her face. "I don't know if I'll be able to stay."

He nodded, eyes downcast, gazing at their twined fingers. "I understand."

Mel sighed. She brought a hand to his face, caressing his jaw. She frowned. Her fingers travelled up, until her palm pressed flat against his forehead.

"Melina?" He asked quietly, his voice concerned. "What is it?"

"You're... hot."

"Well thank you," the consulting detective hummed, smirking slyly. "You are attractive as well-" He moved forward, about to lower his lips to hers.

"I'm talking about your temperature," she snapped irritably, pushing him away with the hand on his brow. _I'm still angry with you. _

Sherlock rolled his eyes skyward. "What about it?"

"You have a fever. A very bad fever...," she breathed, pulling away. "I'd have to check... but I'd say it's at least a hundred and one, if not more..."

The man snorted and waved his hand lethargically. His pale eyes opened and closed slowly, as if he was trying to blink his vision clear. "I'm fine-" He didn't finish the rest of his sentence.

The consulting detective slumped, his body going completely limp.

Crying out, Mel managed to grab onto him before he hit the floor. "Jesus-!" He was so much heavier than he looked. Shoulders protesting, the woman haphazardly dragged him into their bedroom. Grunting, she rolled him onto the bed. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!" She shook him lightly- trying to stir the man- but his head lolled to the side onto the pillow. Rationalized terror flooded the redhead's body. Slowly, she reached up to take his pulse.

One...

...Two...

_...Ba-dum... _

_...Ba-dum... Ba-dum..._

Exhaling with absolute relief, Mel tried to calm herself and think logically._ What should I do? What should I do?! _Inhale. Exhale. _I have to get his temperature down... _She ran to the bathroom. She returned with a large bowl of ice water and several towels. The redhead placed the things on the bedside table and quickly began undressing Sherlock. Memories of him doing the same to her all those months ago flitted through her mind. His temperature was rising. His pale flesh was flushed and unbearable hot. Mel stripped his pants off. Something heavy hit the floor, making her jump. Pressing a hand to her frantic heart, she peered under the bed.

It was Sherlock's phone. Picking up the mobile, she cast a wary glance at the unconscious man on the bed.

Unlocking his phone, she quickly went through the contacts. Finding the one she needed most, she placed the call. Worrying her bottom lip, the dancer waited for the person to pick up. _Please. Please..._

"_Watson._"

The calming voice of the doctor soothed her nerves instantly.

"_Hello? Is there anyone there?_"

She cleared her throat. "John, it's me."

There was an excruciatingly long pause. All she could hear was a sharp intake of breath. A long, drawn-out exhale.

"_M-Mel? Is that really you?_"

"Yes," she breathed, willing the knot of tears in her throat to fade away. "It's me."

"_D-did he find you? Sherlock? Did he tell you-_"

"Yes, John," she said, cutting him off. "I need your help. Sherlock fainted."

"_I- unh, wait. What?_" He cleared his throat, immediately going into doctor-mode. "_What's happened?_"

Cursing impatiently, the woman stripped the consulting detective of the rest of his clothes. "Sherlock fainted, John. He has a fever... It's at least a hundred and two now..."

"_Jesus_-"

"...He had a really bad cough as well," she stated, holding the mobile in the crook of her neck. Dipping the towels in the frigid water, the redhead started to wipe away the heated sweat from his face and chest.

"_Has he been sleeping? Eating?_"

"A bit. We've been...," Mel blushed. "Uh... _busy_."

John snorted. "_I bet._" He sighed and the playful voice was gone. "_The last time I saw him sleep or eat was a couple of months ago... He's been a wreck since you left, Mel. It's most likely stress related. There's only so long the body can continue working without nourishment and rest. He's barely had either. It was horrid to see him like that..._"

Overwhelming guilt took siege over her mind. "I noticed that he's lost a lot of weight... I'm so sorry for this, John."

The military doctor exhaled. She could almost see him running a tired hand down his face. "_How was he acting? Before he fainted?_"

Mel's brow creased. "Um... it was strange...," she whispered, dunking the towels back into the icy water. "We were... you know... and then he coughed. One thing led to another... and then," she swallowed thickly. "He hit me."

John made a small choking noise. "_He did what?!_"

Placing the cool rags over his brow and chest, the woman sat up next to him on the bed, crossing her legs. "I think he was just trying to push me away. But still... it just wasn't like him, John."

The man was quiet for a long time. "_I know that some seizures can be caused by high fevers, extreme cases of stress, and infection._"

Mel's heart dropped.

"._..Mel? Mel!_"

"Sorry, what did you say?" She whispered, inhaling a calming breath.

"_What did Sherlock's cough sound like?_"

"Uh... terrible. Worse than I had ever heard. Like there was something in his lungs? It sounded almost wet-"

"_Okay,_" the doctor interrupted, "_I need you to put your ear to his chest, alright?_"

"Alright...," Mel breathed, swallowing her fear. She pulled away the damp cloth and leaned down, just listening. Her brow creased. A though struck her. The woman placed the phone on Sherlock's chest, letting John hear what was going on. After several moments, she picked up the mobile. "Did you hear that?"

"_Sorry, it was too quiet. Can you tell me what it sounds like_?"

The redhead tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and bit her lip. "Like... a bubbling, crackling sound. I don't know what that-"

"_It indicates the presence of a thick liquid in his lungs_," John stated. "_Is there any way that you can get an x-ray? Is there a hospital nearby?_"

Mel shook her head. "There's nothing like that around here... I mean, there's a clinic, but it doesn't have that sort of equipment."

The man groaned. "_Alright. Mel, you need to get his fever down. This could be something like influenza or bronchitis.._."

The woman swallowed thickly. "John... what aren't you telling me?"

"_I... I've treated Sherlock for a reoccurring case of pneumonitis before,_" he said, clearing his throat. "_Uh... it's when an irritant enters the lungs and inflames the alveoli. It can interfere with the delivery of oxygen to the blood, and therefore the brain_."

Mel froze.

"_If you can't get to a doctor or the correct medication, I'll need to come there. I need to do a pulmonary function test, along with a bronchoscopy_._ He'll need a cocktail of corticosteroids, antibiotics, and intense oxygen therapy..._"

John continued, listing off the possible diagnoses and the various treatments for each. Her mind immediately shut down. Her eyes fell on the beautiful man laying on the bed. His pale flesh was slick with sweat. His eyes rolled under his lids.

"-_Mel! Jesus, are you still there?!_"

She shook herself out of her reverie. "Please come to Vitória, John. I- we need you," she breathed, fighting back the knot of tears threatening to bubble over. "Sherlock needs you."

"... _Aright, I was working on the blog, so I have my laptop running... I'm going to buy a plan ticket, alright? I'll be there as soon as I can._"

A quiet sob fell from her lips. "I'm scared."

The doctor exhaled. "_I'll be there as soon as I can,_" he repeated. He ended the call.

Breathing out a long sigh, the dancer went back to work on Sherlock. Crawling up the bed, she lifted him up, placing his head in her lap. Until dusk, she sat with the consulting detective. She managed to bring down his temperature by bagging ice from the freezer and placing it all around him. The woman would've bathed him, but when she tried to move him from the bed, her ankle sparked with overwhelming pain. The bags of ice were placed strategically: under his arms, on his head, and near his groin. All were wrapped in towels; the last thing she needed was to try to deal with treating accidental frostbite as well. It took several hours, but the fever ebbed, allowing Sherlock to sleep peacefully. He would've looked as healthy as ever, if it wasn't for the deep sputtering breaths that came with each shallow exhale.

Mel found herself yawning uncontrollably by the time the sun set for the day. Her hands were numb from replacing and cycling the bags of ice over his body. She flipped the page of the book in her frigid grasp.

"_We're always thinking of eternity as an idea that cannot be understood, something immense. But why must it be? What if, instead of all this, you suddenly find just a little room there, something like a village bath-house, grimy, and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is. Sometimes, you know, I can't help feeling that that's what it is_..."

"You're reading Dostoyevsky...?"

Mel's heart stuttered momentarily. Attempting casual nonchalance, she peered over the top of _Crime and Punishment_ and smiled softly. "Obviously."

Sherlock smirked. Then let out a load, pained groan. "My head..." _Cough. Cough_.

The woman marked the page and closed the book, placing it on the mattress. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, pulling the ice away. "You fainted on me, mister." She kissed his nose upside-down. His sculpted cheekbones. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to do that."

"Did I...?" _Cough. _He winced. "Did I scare you? Are you alright, Melina?"

The redhead shook her head and laughed lightly. "You fainted, and you're asking _me_ if I'm alright?"

"Yes." His usually clear voice was raw and quiet.

Mel's smile faded slightly. "You scared me more before that."

"W-what happened?" He looked so confused.

She frowned. "You... don't remember?"

"I..." He paused to let out a deafening, hacking cough. "Remember being angry with you. For no reason." He swallowed substantially. "I was so hot... my head..." He trailed off, gazing up into the woman's eyes. "I hit you."

"Yes," she breathed, guarding herself.

"It was so irrational. I was terrible to you," he said, "And yet... you're taking care of me...?"

"Of course. You didn't mean to hurt me. It was the fever talking," she replied honestly, recognizing the high levels of awe in his tone.

Sherlock smiled weakly. "I love you, Melina."

"And I love you." She flushed and leaned down, pressing her lips to his. Sleepily, he tried to deepen the kiss, but the dancer pulled back, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

"Thank you," he sighed, allowing his eyes to close.

"For what?"

"Taking care of me. Kissing me. Undressing me and placing ice on my peni-"

Mel cupped a hand over his mouth, blushing wildly. "You're welcome."

His lips curled up into a smile against her palm. He mumbled a few words but stopped, waiting for her to remove her hand.

"Could you do something for me?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Of course," she repeated, nodding; even though he couldn't see the action.

"Would you read to me?" A pink flush filled his pale cheeks. His voice was steadily draining with every word. "I enjoy... the... sound of your voice..."

Smiling, Mel couldn't help but kiss his full lips again. She picked up the heavy book once more and flipped to the page they'd left off on. As she read to the consulting detective, her fingers came to play with his ebony curls. Her nails gently grazed his scalp, moving in small circles. His hair was slightly damp from the fever. The woman read to him softly, noting how he opened his eyes every so often, as if he was trying his best to remain awake. Slowly, his rough breathing evened out; unconsciousness claiming his mind.

Mel glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

**1:22 AM**

Exhaustion seeped into her mind, dragging its fingers lazily across her body. Closing the book carefully, the redhead placed it on the table, trying her best to not jostle the man's head in her lap. Reaching down, she drew the satin sheets over them. It didn't take long for unconsciousness to show itself, moments from dragging her under. Closing her eyes, she allowed her muscles to relax. Her mind listlessly noted that the storm had stopped, only a light pattering drizzle fell on the roof.

_Every storm must pass_...

With that reassurance, Mel allowed sleep to come, taking away the trials and tribulation of the day.

* * *

**Holy smokes... This story is kind of blowing up, isn't it? I meant for it to be a one-shot. Now here we are, over 100k words, 274 reviews, 30k views, 147 favorites, and 227 followers. I honestly don't know what to say. This is much more popular than I thought it'd ever be. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. It makes me so very happy to receive notifications that more of you readers have joined us for this ride. Thank you for everything! **

**If any of you would like to see a sketch of Mel and Sherlock, the lovely C. L. LaCroix drew this. Leave some love! : **oi43 . tinypic 2s66o28 . jpg

**I've constructed a playlist for this story: **

**...**

**1)Taylor Swift & Ed Sheeran - Everything Has Changed**

**2) The Civil Wars - Kingdom Come**

**3) Birdy - Skinny Love**

**4) Avicii - Wake Me Up**

**5) Paramore - Franklin**

**6) Iko - Heart of Stone **

**7) Paramore - All I Wanted**

**8) Elisa - Dancing**

**9) Ellie Goulding - The Writer**

**10) The Head and the Heart - Rivers and Roads**

**11) A Great Big World - Say Something *_Please listen to this one. It's so perfect for this story._**

**...**


	21. Chapter 21: The Envelope

**Hello my darlings! Here are my responses to your reviews : **

**...**

**IKhandoZatman:** Yes, I thought some of you might think it was a dream but alas, it was not. Thanks for the review!

**Frostivy:** Thank you for your permission. Thank you once more for reviewing!

**Slyork1991:** Thank you so much! I hope that you like this chapter as well.

**xxxMadameMysteryxxx:** Hahaha I hope so too. Thanks for the review!

**Jo Gurtrude:** Hahaha... what do you think about cliffhangers? I am happy that you are enjoying the suspense. I concur. David Tennant's eyes are a beautiful thing. So, by the process of deduction, you must be a Whovian. I've had a dog, four gerbils, two guinea pigs, and boatload of fish- who all ate each other. If you are- by chance- a Whovian, what is your favorite episode? If not, what's your favorite Sherlock episode?

**Dez10d2Rite:** I'm so glad that you're liking this story :) Craziness is never a bad thing, dear, as it shows the things we like and appreciate. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

**lostineternity256:** Thank you! That's true. It's a lovely song. Thanks for the review.

**Gwilwillith:** Thanks!

**harliesue:** Haha, no worries. Please, do not feel obligated to read if you don't have the time. You can always catch up later down the road. Yes, you were right about the cough, my darling. I do love the shouty capital letters, I must say. Your enthusiasm is infectious :) This is what I planned out, the hitting and the delirium. When I'm sick, I know that I don't really want people near me, and I become quite a menace. Sherlock is so... contained and perfect all the time, that I wanted him to break- just a little. Every relationship needs trials to become stronger :) Thanks for the review, and as always, I've enjoyed our chat.

**croatian reader1:** Hello there :) Sorry about getting the movie marathon wrong. I replied to the reviews at three in the morning, so my mind was a little... foggy to say the least xP Karl Urban is also quite the actor, as well as the handsome man, if I may be so bold ;) I am quite well here in Canada. This weekend, it was minus thirty-seven degrees Celsius without the wind chill. Goodness, I need to take out my sweaters. Does it snow in Croatia? Enjoy the sun, and say hello to the gang for me :)

**fairytale07:** Lemons are certainly quite distracting, I agree :) much :D Mycroft won't be coming to Brazil- not in what I've planned- but there will be more happening, suspense wise. Yes, he was trying to push her away because he was sick, but I really don't like it when characters hit each other, even in that sort of way. Thank you once more for all of your words of encouragement!  
**.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..**

**Disclaimer: I only own Mel**

* * *

Mel was humming softly to herself as she danced about the kitchen. Her hips swayed slightly to the quiet classical music that flowed from the living room. She twirled once, giggling airily. Her ankle was feeling better. The smooth white tile was cool under bare feet. Her hair was loose and curled, floating around her like a scarlet curtain made of the finest silk. _Perhaps I could try to dance today,_ she thought, smiling brightly to herself at the possibility. The timer went off, buzzing loudly. The woman flinched and ran to it, quickly shutting the alarm off. Sherlock was still asleep and she wanted him to stay that way for as long as possible.

The redhead approached the oven with a pair of protective mitts and pulled out two dozen blueberry muffins. The scent of the sweet cakes filled the air, forcing away the remaining musty smell of the rainstorm. She turned off the stove. Placing the pans on cooling racks on the bar counter, Mel went to work taking the muffins out. A hushed yelp fell from her lips as she burned the pads of her fingers.

Long fingers wrapped around her wrist. She gasped and turned. Sherlock- standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely nude- lifted her reddened fingers to his lips. His raven curls were a wild halo around his head, mussed from sleep.

"Sherlock, you should be sleeping-" Mel's chastising was cut off as soon as the man slipped her fingers into his mouth. His silky tongue deftly caressed the stinging flesh, laving them entirely. "Sherlock...," she inhaled sharply as he withdrew her fingers, instead blowing cool air onto them. The sensation went straight to her groin. "Y-You... should be resting."

The consulting detective shrugged. "I am not tired," he stated; voice still rough with sleep. "I wanted to see you." Then he slipped her fingers back into his mouth, soothing the burn away with his saliva.

The woman blushed prettily and tugged lightly, trying to detach herself. "You need to go back to bed, Sherlock. You're not feeling well."

"On the contrary," he murmured, holding fast. His teeth teasingly bit her fingertips, making her exhale shakily. He smirked at the faint reaction. "I feel wonderful."

"Do you?" Mel breathed, finally managing to pull herself away. She went back to the muffins, placing them on the cooling racks. Throwing the pans in the sink, she washed her hands thoroughly.

"Mmhmm...," Sherlock hummed, coming up behind her. His hands moved her hair aside, brushing the length over her shoulder. His lips trailed a line of fire from the edge of her jaw to the nape of her neck. "Wonderful...," he reiterated, nibbling on the lobe of her ear.

Steeling her resolve, she turned and pressed her palms against his naked abdomen. He dipped his head, trying to capture her lips. The woman turned her head at the last moment, causing him to peck her cheek. He pouted like a petulant child before trying again. Once again, the redhead moved away. Letting out a frustrated growl, the consulting detective grasped the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged, tilting her face involuntarily to his.

"Back to bed, Mister," she ordered quietly, eyes widening.

"No," he answered defiantly, arching a brow. His hot breath washed over her face, causing her stomach to clench.

"Sleep?" _Why did that sound like a question?_

"No." His mouth hovered just a hairsbreadth away.

Mel sighed. "Sherlock-"

"What do I receive if I do as you ask?"

She shrugged. "Rest?"

He tsked under his breath, smirking. "I will need a form of... _persuasion_, if you will."

The woman exhaled tiredly and tried to move away. The man's hands slammed down on the bar counter, effectively trapping her with his arms.

"You're not healthy, Sherlock. You need sleep," she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest, showing her displeasure.

"And I need you."

Mel flushed at that. "Fine. I'll come read to you."

The consulting detective chuckled throatily. "I was considering something more..." he paused as he thought of a word to finish his statement. "_Beneficial_," he settled, "To both of us."

She rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide the coursing blood that pounded through her veins, starting to pool in her lower belly. "I'm not sleeping with you while you're ill, Sherlock. You need to regain your energy. You need to get better- oh!"

Sherlock lifted her into his arms- hands at her back and under her legs. He chuckled once more. "I've read several medical papers that suggest that intercourse is vital in regaining health and sustaining muscular stability." He proceeded to walk down the hall to their bedroom.

_How the hell can he carry me when he's sick? Shouldn't he be weak, coughing and in bed where I left him?_

"Oh, the silent treatment, I see. Do not be upset, Melina." His arms tightened around her as he pressed a swift, heated kiss to her pouting lips. "You're much too attractive to sulk, love." He pecked her mouth again and again.

_Don't smile. _"You should go back to bed-"

"If you have not taken notice of our current position, that's precisely what I intend on doing," he shot back, resuming his assault of kisses. The man kicked open the door to the bedroom and threw the dancer onto of the mattress.

At that moment, a sweet chime sounded through the air.

The doorbell.

Sherlock started at the noise. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Mel, who was panting lightly on top of their bed. "Were you expecting someone?"

Mel's heart stuttered in her chest momentarily. "Get in the bed, Sherlock. Now." Slipping off the satin sheets, the woman rose and went to the mirror on the wardrobe. She quickly righted her hair and clothes, smoothing the wrinkles from her violet sundress.

Ignoring the consulting detective's shouts, she rushed to the front door and pulled it open.

Standing in the bright light of morning, was Dr. John Watson. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a navy t-shirt, the doctor was dressed in the least amount of layers she had ever seen him wearing. The circles under his eyes had darkened considerably; whether from lack of sleep or stress, she didn't know. A multitude of grey had invaded his short-cropped blond hair. He shifted stiffly and his grip adjusted on the small duffle bag he was carrying. Then his eyes widened, taking the woman in.

"Mel... Jesus. You look good- uh, pretty." He shook his head, internally smacking himself. "Beautiful." He finally smiled, albeit a bit shakily.

Without a second thought, the redhead jumped into his arms, winding herself around the doctor like a koala bear. He grunted and dropped his bag, catching her with little effort, hands under her thighs. Throwing decorum aside, Mel peppered kisses all over his face. John let out a genuine chuckle and held her tighter to him. He pressed a timid kiss to her cheek before lowering the dancer's feet onto solid ground.

"I-I'm sorry...," the woman laughed self-consciously. She pushed back the lump of tears in her throat. "I've just missed you so much."

"Me too," the doctor admitted, smiling down at her. His eyes were shining.

Realizing they were still awkwardly standing on the front veranda. "Oh. Come in," Mel said, ushering him into the beach house. He picked up his discarded duffle bag and followed her inside. He let out a low whistle as he looked throughout the massive parlor.

"Jesus," he breathed again, running a hand through his short hair.

The dancer chuckled and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I just made some muffins," she told him as they walked through the multitude of halls before reaching the kitchen. "Would you like one?"

The man let out a little moaning noise and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the baked goods. "Yes, please. I took a direct flight here. The food was... terrible," he finished, shrugging sheepishly.

Mel laughed at the curl of his lips as he thought back to the meal he had. She slipped her fingers from his and pushed the doctor over to the bar, motioning for him to sit on one of the tall stools. Walking through the kitchen, the woman took three plates from the cupboard and retrieved the butter from the fridge. Plating a hot muffin on each plate, the redhead slathered a small amount of butter on each, letting it melt into the cake. Smiling sweetly at John, she placed a plate in front of him. Thanking her quickly, the doctor tucked into his muffin.

Hearing footsteps on the tile floor, the dancer looked up.

Sherlock was standing in the entryway of the kitchen, dressed to perfection in a pair of slate-grey slacks and a burgundy button-down. Mel could feel his cool glare on her as she busied herself with washing the dishes. One of the stools pulled out from the bar, scraping the white tile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sh-rl-k!" John cried, mouth still full of muffin. "Wh-t -re -u -oing w-king around?"

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that," the consulting detective muttered.

The doctor swallowed loudly. "Mel said you were sick-"

"'Mel said'?" His gaze immediately flickered to her.

The woman bit her bottom lip as she dried the dishes and placed them back in the cupboards.

"Oh." John coughed. "Well-"

"I wasn't aware that Miss McAllister had been in contact with you, John."

_Oh, you're 'Miss McAllister' now... _Mel rolled her eyes and turned to face the men. "You're upset that I called him?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed but didn't stray from the military doctor. "I'm not upset."

"Sounds like you are," John whispered under his breath, taking another bite of his muffin. "Most people say 'hello' when their friends come to visit-"

The dark-haired man ignored the jab. "I don't have friends, John. You're already aware of that."

The doctor flinched almost imperceptibly and went rigid. "Right. That's why I flew all the way here when I heard you were ill."

"I didn't ask you to," the other man snapped, "I'm fine. Miss McAllister was over-reacting. She shouldn't have called you."

The woman felt as though she had been slapped. "_Over-reacting_?"

When he finally turned to face her, his expression was void of emotion. "Yes." He looked away as he plucked one of the buttered muffins and started to delicately eat. His long, slim fingers pulled apart the dense cake and slipped the pieces into his mouth. Unlike John, he didn't thank her. He made no noises of pleasure as he ate; only pausing to chew and swallow.

_I stayed up with this man, brought down his fever, read to him until the early hours of morning, and slept with him all night- just to make sure he was alright._ Angry tears clouded her vision_. And here he is throwing it all back in my face, claiming I was over-reacting?! That pompous, son of a- _

Letting out a irritated growl, Mel stalked forward and grabbed the last plated muffin. Before she knew what was happening, the small cake was flying through the air. It hit Sherlock in the forehead with a dull _thunk_. The muffin bounced off his pale brow and fell into his lap.

Nobody moved. The room was completely silent.

The consulting detective blinked once. Twice. His brow creased with a mixture of shock and confusion. Pale fingers came up to his forehead, ghosting over the print of butter and blueberry juice.

John was the first to break the silence. His roaring, belly-aching laughter echoed through the quiet room. Inhaling some of his muffin, the doctor started to wheeze and choke. Finally managing to dislodge the food from his lungs, the man wiped away the tears of mirth from his eyes.

The redhead swallowed angrily and moved from the kitchen, fleeing to the bedroom.

"Melina!" Sherlock shouted from behind in the kitchen.

She slammed the bedroom door and locked it. Jumping onto the bed, the woman dove face-first into the mountain of pillows and screamed at the top of her lungs. No sound came, as it was swallowed by the satin and feathers. _Sherlock Holmes, you asshole. _Allowing her anger flow from her limbs, the redhead pounded her fists into the sheets, doing little damage; though the resulting satisfaction was worth every moment. Once the tension depleted, Mel felt exhausted.

Her head swam from the lack of oxygen and she turned, flipping onto her back. "Sherlock Holmes, I swear to god, if you try to pick that lock I won't let you touch me for a month," she said monotonously, just loud enough for him to hear behind the door.

There was a long, pronounced pause.

"How did you know I was picking the lock?" Came the muffled reply.

"You're fucking predictable," the redhead spat back, glaring up at the ceiling.

There was a rough chuckle. "You're cursing, Miss McAllister. I'd gather that you're quite upset, then?"

Mel snorted and flopped back onto her front. She let out another yell into the pillows.

"I'll take that as a yes...," Sherlock sighed. "And it's with me, I suppose?"

No response came.

"If you're not going to answer, I'll pick the lock, Melina."

She lifted her head. "Oh, I'm 'Melina' now?" She rolled her eyes. "Try to come in here. I fucking dare you."

"Ah, and I receive my answer," he noted; his tone preposterously triumphant. "Why don't you stop pulverizing our bedding? I'd rather do that this evening-"

The woman let out a livid shriek and punched the mattress. In her haste, she caught the bed frame with her knuckles. Letting out a stifled cry, she curled up on her side and cradled her hand to her chest, observing the ludicrous shade of red in her hand.

"If you let me come in Melina, I'll massage your hand-"

"_Stop deducing me through the fucking door!_"

Another chuckle. "I'm not. I heard you punch the wooden bed frame. Technically speaking, that would be classified as listening, not detuction."

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

"Not intentionally, no."

"Stop smiling, then."

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are."

There was a pause. For the first time that morning, Sherlock let out a loud, wet, hacking cough. "Yes. I am," he finally rasped.

_Don't feel sorry for him. Don't feel sorry for him. Don't you dare-_

A soft _click_ing noise came from the lock. Mel peered at the door through her curtain of hair. Glaring, she watched as it slowly swung open, revealing a hesitant Sherlock. He closed the door behind him and locked it once more. Eyes flashing, the man threw aside two bobbypins- which had been warped and mangled to fit into the lock. Without a moment's pause, the consulting detective sauntered forward.

Her eyes widened. "You can't touch me now-"

Snarling animalistically, Sherlock grasped the woman by the nape- fisting the hair there- and tugged her up to her knees. Swooping down, the man kissed her ferociously; taking everything, leaving nothing. His talented tongue slipped past her gasping lips, breeching the confines of her mouth. Despite her intentions to push him away, the redhead's fingers clutched at his shirt, pulling him onto the bed with her. His free hand went to the woman's waist. His fingertips dug into the material of her dress, scraping along the flesh underneath. Guiding her onto her back, Sherlock slipped between her parted legs. His hips thrusted shallowly. Throwing his head back, the man let out a loud groan. Mel reached up. Slipping her fingers into his curls, she wrenched roughly, eliciting a grunt from his perfect lips.

"I thought I said you couldn't-"

Sherlock lowered his weight onto her, supporting himself on his forearms. "I'm touching you, Melina, whether you're cross with me or not."

Her subconscious did a series of back flips. After another heated kiss, Mel pulled away, nibbling at his bottom lip. "I should throw a muffin at you more often."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"You deserved it," she pointed out. Using all of her weight, the woman managed to flip them so she was on top.

"I disagree."

"Excuse me?"

"I disagree," he repeated, the mask of cool indifference already back in place. The woman groaned and moved away. Sherlock caught her easily, hands locking round her thighs on either side of him. "Stay," he instructed.

The order frustrated her more than anything. "I'm not a dog, Sherlock-" His hand came down on her backside, making her yelp. Her emerald eyes went impossibly wide.

"No. But you are _mine._"

"I. Am. Not- AH!"

_SMACK!_

The second blow was harder than the first. The angry sting made her stomach clench deliciously. She squirmed on top of the consulting detective, searching for some sort of friction. His hard length was straining against his trousers.

_SMACK!_

"Tell me."

Mel was gasping. Her chest heaved. "What? Tell you what?"

"That you are mine."

"I'm not-" _SMACK!_ "_Jesus,_ Sherlock!"

His fingers flexed over the smarting flesh. In one fluid motion, he hitched the woman's sundress up to her waist. "You are mine. Say the words, and I will take you now. I know that you want that, Melina."

"B-But... you have a cold... and John-"

His palm came down again, connecting with bare skin, catching her off guard. She was about to cry out when Sherlock took siege of her mouth, ravaging her mind and senses; swallowing her whimpers.

"You called John. Why?"

_Oh._ _Change of topic_. "He's a doctor. You're sick." Mel breathed carefully, looking down at him.

"Is that all?" He asked; the image of cool ferocity. "Those were the only reasons?"

"Yes. Yes!"

Sherlock's silver eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I believe you, Melina." His large hand flexed its hold on her stinging backside, ebbing the pain away. At the same time, tingles of electricity sparked in the apex of her thighs.

"S-Sherlock what are you saying?"

"That you want him. John. Sexually. Intimately." He spat the words in a frustrated staccato. "Do you want to have sex with the _doctor_, Melina?"

"No! Jesus, Sherlock. You know that I love you. I want you. Only you. For the rest of my-" Mel stopped herself.

Sherlock sat up immediately, bringing them nose-to-nose. His jaw slackened. "What were you about to say?"

"Nothing." She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. Mel's cheeks were flaming. His knees came up, allowing her to lean back on his thighs.

"'For the rest of your...' what?" He hovered centimeters away, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly.

The woman shook her head. Rolling to the side, she managed to escape. Throwing the door open, Mel made it halfway down the hall before strong arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her back. Ignoring her cries, Sherlock locked the bedroom door once more and pressed the dancer against it. Palms flat against the door, the man let out an aggravated noise.

"What were you going to say? _Tell me, _Melina."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. "You're a clever man. I'd venture that you could guess well enough."

"I don't guess. Deduce, infer, collect and surmise facts-" His eyes flashed. "I never guess."

"You know what the end of that sentence was, then," she breathed. Her gaze flickered from his perfect mouth to his imploring stare.

"I have... an idea," he admitted, swallowing. His Adam's Apple bobbed in his throat. "But I want you to say it. Out loud."

She gazed up at him dryly. "And I wanted a unicorn when I was three. We can't always get what we want."

"Yes, we do," Sherlock muttered.

"What did you get, then?"

"I claimed you."

The statement was simple enough, containing only three words. In correlation with the meaningful gaze from the beautiful man, his proximity, and tone, the one sentence left her reeling. Mel let out a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the heat that was pooling between her thighs.

"Now, tell me. Finish the rest of the sentence."

"Life."

His brow creased with confusion. He pulled away slightly. "Pardon?"

Mel worried her bottom lip. Turning her attention away from his face, she focused on counting the buttons of his shirt. _Seven. Nine, if you include the ones at the wrist cuff-_

"Melina. Look at me."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she did as the man asked.

"You want to be with me. For the rest of your life."

Her stomach turned inside her, flipping and tangling with her intestines. She listened to his rough breaths- still thick with sickness. _Maybe he isn't that ill,_ she mused, _maybe he just had a one day cold. The really bad kind that just needs rest and soup-_

"Melina."

_He sounds better. His voice isn't that bad. _

"Melina."

_If he has enough energy to be rude to John again, he has to be feeling better-_

"_Melina!?_"

His hand was cool against her skin where he cupped the woman's face. _Maybe I have a fever now. Or perhaps I'm just blushing._ She focused again, looking up into his silver eyes.

"What?" She questioned, frowning.

Sherlock leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "You've been silent for more than five minutes. I thought... I had broken you, somehow."

Mel laughed quietly and reached up, pulling his hands away from her face. "Sorry. Just thinking."

The consulting detective nodded slightly in understanding. He pressed his lips to her nose. Then to each of her cheekbones in turn. Her jaw. Her closed lids. He traced every feature with his mouth, as if he was memorizing the taste and shape.

"You want to be with me for the rest of your life."

The dancer flushed pink but didn't turn away from his intense gaze. She nodded. _Please... don't be angry. Don't be upset. Don't- _Her inner monologue was silence by the touch of his mouth. Locking their lips together, Sherlock cupped her face once more. It was by far the most tender of touches they had ever shared. His thumbs stoked her flaming cheekbones in time with his mouth. They couldn't get close enough to each other. The man caught her about the waist, pulling her flush against the line of his strong body. Before the kiss could deepen into anything more, the consulting detective pulled away, pressing a final, closed-mouth kiss to her lips.

"I love you," he breathed, forehead creasing with emotion. "And I want you to be mine. Now. Forever. On paper and in our bed."

"I love you too." She leaned up to kiss him again, taking her time to taste. "And I... want to be yours."

A loud knock shook them from one of the most meaningful conversations they would ever have. Sherlock exhaled with no small amount of distress. Pulling Mel to his side, he opened the door.

"I do apologize, John," he said, his voice cool and dejected once more. "But I am busy with Melina at the current time-"

"Actually, I need to talk to Mel," John admitted, shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly.

Sherlock stiffened as the woman in question moved away from him.

"What is it John?" She asked, smiling kindly.

The doctor sighed and ran a tired hand down his face. "Before I left for the airport, a man came by Baker Street. He told me-" The blond man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled and yellowed envelope. "-To give this to you."

Mel took the small envelope and turned it over in her hands. There was a seal of red wax on its back.

"For me?" She asked, not looking away from the seal. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. He told me to give it to you immediately, whenever I saw you next. I forgot about it until just a moment ago."

"That's... peculiar," she breathed. Slipping her fingers under the wax, the redhead opened the envelope. Turning it over, a small, cool object fell into her flat palm. It was a sleek USB stick. The black object was spotless, except for a single, a perfect drop of a dark, brown-red substance.

Mel's stomach pitched. Her body was completely numb. She dropped the USB. It clattered noisily on the floor.

"Melina? What is it?" Sherlock was beside her in instantaneously, wrapping his arms round her waist.

"No," she breathed. Her hands flew to her mouth. Tears flowed unbidden from her eyes as she glanced up at John. "Who...?"

"What?"

"Who gave this to you?" She demanded. Her face was wet with salty tears. She struggled in the consulting detective's arms. "What did he look like?!"

The doctor's eyes went wide. "I- uh, I don't know. He was wearing a hood-"

"What is it?" Sherlock cut in, "What is that?"

Mel wiped at her face frantically with the heels of her palms. "John, what did he look like? Tell me anything you can. _Please_."

"I- I don't know...," he stuttered, eyes wide. "It was dark-"

"_Think_, John!"

His forehead creased as he tried to remember any detail. "I don't know!" He cried. "English. Six-one, six-two. White. Glasses- large frames. Dark hair."

The woman's heart seized in her chest. Her stomach fell once more, turning. She pressed a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the nausea. "Oh my god," she breathed, pulling away from Sherlock. Without his arms around her, her body sagged. The men cried out and rushed forward, barely managing to keep her from hitting the ground. The consulting detective lifted her into his arms, and placed her on the bed. Mel shivered and stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

"Mel! Can you hear me?" John asked, his concern and worry evident in his voice.

She nodded.

"Who? Who was that man, love?" Sherlock asked, stroking the side of her face tenderly.

Another shiver ripped through her petite frame. She shook her head slightly. _No. Please... no._

"Alright," he sighed. "What did he give you? What does it mean?"

Mel bit her lip. A soft sobbing noise sounded through the room.

"Please," John beseeched. "Let us help you, Mel. You always take care of us. This one time, let us do the same for you."

The tears were back, blinding her vision.

"It's a file. _The _file."

The men shared a long look.

"What file? What does that mean?"

Mel rolled onto her side. She curled up- grasping her knees to pull them into her chest. She was making herself as small as possible. The way a child would.

"I helped him find it," she stated, her voice watery and so very, very small.

"Who? Love, _who_?!"

"The man. The Bad Man." She swallowed. "The Shadow Man."

* * *

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